


beyond the smog

by shineonloki



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-06-08 02:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15233694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineonloki/pseuds/shineonloki
Summary: The world was dying. Finding the Tesseract would never happen, for many different reasons. But on the off-chance it was found— it could never be in the hands of a Jotun pirate.





	1. prologue

**Prologue** ; 

The world was once full of life; now it wasn’t.

Loki didn’t remember though. Being born of Jotunheim, he grew up knowing only darkness and barren wastelands. When he first arrived at the palace, at the age of eight, he would grow angry when the Aesir folk would make off-handed comments about how _lucky_ he was. They held a firm belief that Odin acted as their savior by pulling them from Jotunheim and bringing them to Asgard.

Jotunheim was a cursed land, blanketed in a never-melting ice and unable to produce a harvest; its sky hung in perpetual darkness. The Goddesses had turned their back on the once-grand city, but its people never did. The Jotnar stood proudly in the fortress of ice.

So, no. As desolate and unsavory as his homeland was, Odin didn’t save him.

He was brought to the palace to serve the king in gratitude and, even though he was given Aesir clothing and a cot in the serving quarters, he was no more than a prisoner— Loki was young then and so was his anger.

At the age of ten, he was able to understand that it wasn’t just Jotunheim that was cursed- it was the world.

Yes, the world was once full of life; it had been lush and green like the inside of the queen’s arboretum.

He liked to spend time there, the thick vegetation was beautiful and unlike anything Loki had ever seen. Best of all, Queen Frigga made him feel special— and he supposed he was, considering he was allowed to visit such an exclusive part of the palace. He could still remember the first time she had approached him, golden and radiant like Asgard itself, and taken his small hands into hers.

“You have magic within you, I can feel it,” she had held his hands close, unphased by his heritage unlike the others, and whispered, “can you?”

He wasn’t sure he did. Then, suddenly, a warm, golden glow radiated from the Queen’s fingertips to spread over Loki, making him gasp. He watched, completely awestruck. It blossomed from her and engulfed his pale hands. The magic calmed, soothed, and healed him; all the rage building inside was tempered.  

“Reach in,” she instructed, “deep within. Find it.”

Loki screwed his eyes shut and held his breath, searching for something— anything.

“ _Concentrate_.”

So, he did. He concentrated on the energy flowing from her, studied it and tried to find that same feeling within himself. Then, as if it had always been there waiting, he found it— could feel it washing over him in little tendrils, a powerful magic curling its way through his veins.

Loki let out his breath and opened his eyes slowly. First, he noticed Frigga smiling, her beautiful face cast with gold and green.

Green, which was an interesting and new development.

Carefully, he lowered his gaze down to where their hands were clasped together, and he felt his heart stutter.

A brilliant green drifted from him, it’s wispy fingers rose and intertwined with Queen Frigga’s golden aura.

“Now, Loki, dear,” her soft face turned hard, like the stone statues standing watch over her garden. “You mustn’t tell anyone about this. Do you understand?”

Loki nodded. He didn’t understand, he wouldn’t for a long time, but he trusted her.


	2. chapter O1

**Eighteen years later** ;

There was a dry crunch under his boot, but he ignored the dead, crumbling leaves beneath him. That was all that was left after his mother’s passing— death.

He tried to remember what the arboretum looked like before when he was a child. The tangle of gnarled vines that twisted their way up the walls and glass ceiling had been heavy with green and tiny flowers— maybe pink? The ornate pots and vases that now sat empty with dust and dirt were once spilling over with life. Everywhere he looked he could see his mother’s ghost; there were only hints left that she had been alive, nothing more survived.

He kicked at a shard of pottery, sending it skidding across the cobblestone and colliding with the wall, shattering. Sometimes he couldn’t figure out why he still visited because, like the vase, every time he did so he broke further.

“Prince Thor,” a small, frail voice echoed from behind him. He turned, only slightly, in no mood to put on a regal façade. The servant girl shifted on her feet, clearly nervous, waiting for permission to speak again— so, Thor nodded. “Your father, the King, requests your presence in the throne room.”

“Very well,” he said with a wave of his hand, dismissing her, and she obliged gratefully.

He knew why his father wanted him. They had been arguing about it for weeks. Typically, he understood and respected his father— and King’s— wishes. But this new hairbrained, asinine scheme was where Thor had to draw the line. He had no intention of being complacent.

From the window, spiderwebbed with cracks, he could see the Commodore breaking through the thick, black clouds hanging over the city. It really was a grand ship, Thor wasn’t too proud to admit that; it dwarfed most in both size and elegance. If rumors were true, which they often weren’t, it was the fastest airship in all of the realms.

Thor watched its steam-powered oars row, fanning away the pollution hazing around Asgard. No, the Prince had no quarrel with the Commodore herself—just her captain.

\---

Thor had to admit, he was disappointed the man kneeling before the throne wasn’t blue. To be fair, he had never actually seen a Jotun in the flesh and everything he knew was from whispers in the palace.

His father had rescued them from the suffocating curse of Jotunheim many years ago but there weren’t many survivors. The ones that did make it to Asgard resided in areas a young prince would never be allowed to travel, the pits and slums on the outskirts of the city. When he had asked his tutor why, she had told him it was because they were treacherous beasts and he believed it—his father wouldn’t have done something so cruel otherwise.

Loki Laufeyson was of Jotunheim and, although an almost sickly pale, he was certainly not blue. He raised his head, a sharp gaze locked on King Odin. His eyes were green, Thor noticed, much like his clothes. The angles of his face were as sharp as his glare, high cheeks and a slender nose. He looked almost aristocratic but, thankfully, Thor had been pre-warned of the Jotun’s bewitching illusion.

The Captain of the Commodore was no more than a con-artist, making the lovely airship a meager pirating vessel. He lured the rich in with charming smiles and promises and then betrayed them with loopholes and lies—leaving himself with larger rewards than originally bargained.

A lesser man would have been executed for his crimes, but Laufeyson had a silver-tongue and found his way out of most situations. Thor wouldn’t admit he was one for gossip, but he couldn’t deny he kept an ear out for news of the charismatic, glorified bounty-hunter.

“Your majesty, I am honored you would call me here,” Laufeyson said, smooth and silky and dangerous. He rose from kneeling with a slight bow of his head. It took every ounce of will in Thor not to roll his eyes. Instead, he concentrated on the out-of-place strand of black hair draping against the Captain’s forehead.

Thor was staring, fuming, but Laufeyson paid him no mind at all.

“The honor is mine,” his father spoke from beside him and it made Thor dig into the meat of his palm with his blunt nails. “I trust that you are curious about why you have been summoned?”

Laufeyson gave a closed-lipped smile and clasped his hands behind his back, standing a little straighter than before. “Of course, my King.”

There is something in the way he says _my King_ that doesn’t sit well with Thor. He was not Aesir and no longer resided in Asgard, so, therefore, Odin was not his king. He was mocking.

“You have heard of the Tesseract?”  

Thor stilled, sucking in a breath, as an ominous hush fell over the throne room. The Captain’s smile faltered for a second but was instantly replaced. His father had only told him he was going to employ Laufeyson— to which Thor wholeheartedly had disagreed.

“It’s a marvelous tale,” the Jotun replied, a slight edge to his voice, “but I’m afraid it is just that, a story.”

Thor pulled a hazy memory from deep within. It was of him sitting on his mother’s lap within her greenhouse, the warmth of the sun filtering in and making the leaves hanging around them glow like fire. In her palm was a mound of dirt and with a whisper, a tiny green sprout broke from the soil. He couldn’t remember her voice now, a realization he tried not to dwell on, but he knew she had told him the source of her magic— the Tesseract. It was an object of unfathomable power, hidden in the realms by the Goddesses. It had the ability to give unrelenting resources, something the dying world needed desperately. But, it was just a legend told to children, giving them hope as their lungs filled with smog.

“I have a map,” the King replied, and Thor turned his head quickly towards his father. Odin sat on his throne, in his gold and blue robes, without a twitch of emotion on his face. He wasn’t joking, but he had to be. The Tesseract was a fable.

The silence that had fallen the room was broken by a loud, barking laugh that bounced off the gilded palace walls. It took a moment for Thor to realize it came from Laufeyson, who was staring at the King with a childlike glee. When Odin remained stoic and unmoving, refusing to say it was all a good joke, the Captain’s face fell.

“You’re mad,” he said, taking a step back. At the bottom of the throne’s steps, a guard shifted to lower a spear. Speaking ill to the king wasn’t an act liable to get you executed, but it was enough to get you drug to the holding cell for a night or two.

Laufeyson scowled when the punchline never came. His face dropped and hinted at something incredulous. “You’re not joking,” he said, and it wasn’t a question— more of an observation. He gave a thoughtful chuckle, which sounded more like a snort, and wiped a slender hand down his face.

Odin smiled, softening the harsh wrinkles and lines of his aged face. “You will be fully funded of course, with access to all the realms under the protection of the King of Asgard. When you return, you will be set up with a home within the palace court and, of course, paid handsomely.”

Laufeyson nodded, contemplating. And, Thor thought, probably scheming up a way to double-cross them.

“The only condition is the Tesseract, when found, must be immediately returned to Asgard.”

His father better see to it that the binding is legitimized on paper, surely, he was not that naive. Perhaps even Laufeyson wouldn’t dare to commit treason against the King, but it was still better to be safe. Especially if this fool’s errand actually came to fruition.

“That is a _very_ generous offer, your majesty,” Laufeyson hummed, keeping his hands locked behind his back, and began a slow pace back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. A guard looked back at Odin, who raised a hand to show he allowed it.

“Do you accept, Captain Laufeyson?”

It was a generous reward for a mission destined to fail, he would never find what he was looking for—map or no map. The Tesseract didn’t exist. Laufeyson would never—

“King Odin,” the Captain spoke, once again, kneeled on one knee, placing his hand above his treacherous heart. “I am humbled by your consideration for such a mission,” he looked up, a dazzling toothy smile on his face; the charm brought out to soften the blow of declining.

“I, Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim, of Asgard, and of the skies,” his eyes cut to Thor for the first time and the Prince felt the hairs on the back of his arms stand. “Accept.”

Accept.

_Accept._

“No,” a voice protested, and Thor realized, too late, that it was his own.

Both Odin and Laufeyson look to him, the King looking quietly furious and the Captain looking immensely amused.

“My son,” his father began, with a calm that masked growing frustration, “is there something you wish to say?”

Thor steeled himself. Finding the Tesseract would probably never happen, for many different reasons, but on the off-chance he did find it— it could never be in the hands of a Jotun pirate.

“Forgive me,” he said, even though he could care less if he was forgiven, “but Captain Laufeyson has proven himself to be untrustworthy on multiple occasions. There are whispers—”

“Ah, whispers, my Prince,” Laufeyson interrupted him, wagging a finger like he was a child doing something bad. It made Thor’s blood boil. “You shouldn’t listen to rumors, it is not very becoming, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll show you becoming,” Thor snapped, hand reaching for his Warhammer fastened to his belt.

“Enough!”

Odin’s voice silenced them both, but Thor kept his hand on his hammer and Laufeyson kept his shark-like smile.

“Father,” he looked over and Odin shot him a look, showing such familiarity in the throne room was frowned upon, even for a prince, but he was too angry to care, “if you insist on this, allow me to accompany Laufeyson on his journey.”

Thor didn’t think it was possible, but Laufeyson’s smile grew wider, showing all his teeth. He was dangerous.

“It would be up to the Captain to decide,” Odin replied bluntly, “if there is room aboard the Commodore for you.”

“My Prince,” Laufeyson smirked, taking a bold step forward to the edge of the throne stairs, “what would you be able to provide for me if I allowed this?”

Thor squirmed under the Captain’s scrutinizing gaze. He would act as a watchful eye to the King, of course, but he couldn’t very well tell him that.

“Can you read star charts, _my Prince_?”

Thor hesitated and because he took too long to reply, the Jotun continued.

“Have you ever been beyond the smog, _my Prince_?”

He took another pace forward, toeing at the edge of the steps.

“Perhaps you could shovel coal to power the steam engines,” Laufeyson’s gaze flickered down to Thor’s muscled forearms in a sweeping, languid motion, “would that suit you, _my Prince_?”

A heavy electrical current pulsed between them fueled entirely by loathing and fury. Thor grit his teeth, balling his fists and whipping his head to his father who sat idly, allowing this petty _criminal_ to demean him in front of the entire court.

“That would suit me just fine, _C_ _aptain_ ,” Thor spat. He, of course, had never worked with the engines that powered the palace. All he knew was that injuries and causalities were unfortunately quite common. Most of the servants that worked in the boiler rooms were covered in thick, waffled scars. Such a job wouldn’t suit a prince, but he was determined.

“Lovely,” Laufeyson commented, clearly amused. “Then, if the King permits, I will welcome you aboard the Commodore.”

Thor was going to punch that smug, condescending smirk right off his face before this was over.

“Thor,” his father called, “is this truly what you wish?”

Thor bobbed his head because he didn’t trust his voice. Odin didn’t respond, only looked his son up and down before sighing quietly and giving Laufeyson an approving nod.

“Fantastic,” the Captain hissed, and Thor couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or not. “Your majesty, if the map could be delivered to my quarters, I would be eternally grateful. I’d like to study it before the voyage.”

“They will be sent immediately.”

“Thank you, my King,” Laufeyson bowed to Odin again—courteous and polite—before turning to Thor and repeating the gesture.

“We set sail at dawn, _my Prince_.”

Thor’s stomach sunk to the bottom of his feet. This ridiculous, whimsical, _impossible_ assignment was happening, and he’d just volunteered himself to accompany the world’s most irritating captain on a mission that was doomed for failure.

What would his mother say?

 


	3. chapter O2

**Fifteen years ago ;**

It was a harsh winter, especially for Asgard, and the smog was thin enough to let through the snow. It rained down in soft, white pellets and covered the ground in a thin sheet. Most of the Aesir folk stayed inside, sticking to their quarters warmed by the fires kindled deep in the boiler rooms. The palace courtyard stayed empty, slowly accumulating snow and ice. It was a nightmare for the people of Asgard.

For a young Jotun, it was heaven. Loki laid in the comfort of the cold, pillowed by the downy snow, in his summer tunic. Though it was soothing, it stirred a horrible homesickness. He closed his eyes, pressed his head into the ice, raked his fingers through the slush, and tried to remember Jotunheim. It had only been five years, but it already seemed like such a distant memory.

The day was quiet, except for the constant whir of the machines powering the palace that, Loki thought, he would never get used to— no matter how many years he spent imprisoned there. He kept his eyes closed and focused on the low hum, trying to fall asleep to maybe dream of home…

_Clank._

Loki furrowed his brow, opening one eye.

_Clank— clank._

Loki sat up, snow falling off his shoulders but sticking to his dark hair. He looked around, alert. The sound of metal on metal wasn’t unfamiliar to him, but this was different and possibly dangerous. He stood, cautiously, brushing off the flakes that clung to his clothes. He listened, following the noise, and as he grew closer new sounds accompanied it. Grunts, human grunts and— painfully pathetic war cries?

He crept up to a towering column, he recognized this part of the palace as the training grounds. He had never had any reason to visit— he was a measly kitchen boy as far as anyone was concerned— but Loki found it helpful to be familiar with his place of captivity. A sleeping spell and sneaky fingers had got him a map of the grounds from the royal library.

The training arena was empty save for one, scrawny kid furiously attacking a patchwork of metal welded into the vague shape of a man. Loki watched him from the safety of the shadows. He hadn’t seen the boy before, he didn’t look like a young lord—his many layers of clothes were much too worn. He was probably a servant, like Loki, taking advantage of the empty palace.

He was almost impressed with the strong, focused blows of the boy’s hammer. Loki felt entranced at his swing, each strike echoing throughout the arena. He was graceful— right up until he took a wrong step and slipped on the ice beneath him. The boy landed flat on his backside, hammer flying from his grasp, with his legs in the air.

It was…hilarious and, as stoic and hardened as Loki pretended to be, he laughed loud— _very_ loud. Loud enough for the boy to snap his head back, struggling to his feet, and scrambling for his hammer. He raised it, planting himself into a defensive stance. He’d probably have looked menacing if Loki hadn’t just witnessed him fall victim to the ice beneath his feet.

Loki held up his hands as a white flag, still chuckling under his breath, and rounded the corner; only then did the boy cautiously lower his weapon.

“I don’t mean to laugh,” he commented calmly, even though he really did.

“Yeah,” the kid scoffed, “sure does sound like it. I bet the whole court heard you cackling.”

Loki inched closer, taking note of every little detail before him: about his age, golden hair, sun-kissed skin, blue eyes, dirty clothes, an embarrassed flush to his cheeks, a wary expression on his face. Loki felt himself smile and the boy tentatively smiled back. It felt good, like this was something that most boys experienced. It’d be nice, Loki thought, to have a friend.

“You did look ridiculous,” Loki teased, wandering over to the tin-man and giving it a hollow tap with his knuckles. “Before that though, I was impressed.”

“Yeah,” the boy breathed out, flush still on his cheeks. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck—a nervous habit, Loki assumed. He looked at Loki now, up and down, eyes widening. “Aren’t you freezing?”

Loki looked down at himself and for the first time felt self-conscious about his lack of clothes. He was wearing only his tunic, a flimsy dark green thing, and his light, linen breeches. He realized then how strange he must look.

“Oh, no, not really.”

“What are you? A Jotun?” He laughed, but Loki stilled and despite the cold, felt a sweat break out on his forehead. Fellow servant or not— Aesir didn’t always take kindly to Jotnar.

The boy squinted at him, tilting his head and staring— the icy blue of his eyes colder than any winter. He took a step forward, and Loki took a step back, then the tango ended when he dropped to one knee and winced.

“Shit,” he grumbled and grabbed at his kneecap. Loki, eager to dispel the sudden suspicion, dropped down to level with him. “I must have banged myself up in the fall.”

“Here,” Loki found himself saying, eager to please—even against his better judgment. Frigga had warned him not to, but…

Loki batted the boy’s hands out of the way and placed his own firm against his kneecap. He screwed his eyes shut tight and called forth his magic, feeling it weave its way through his fingers to sooth the angry muscles. When he opened his eyes, he was being stared at.

“You are magic,” he whispered, eyes never leaving Loki’s face.

The reality of what he had just done set in and he felt a panic flutter in his chest.

“You must work in the orchards,” the boy said right as Loki was about to start pleading for him to keep the secret. He snapped his mouth closed instantly.

All magic-users were sent to work in the orchards and fields—crops couldn’t grow without their aid. Of course, it would only make sense that he would work there.

“Yes,” Loki lied easily, relief overtaking him, and he leaned back on his haunches while looking down at the boy’s leg. “Does it feel better?”

At Loki’s question, he stood and did a couple squats, testing his own durability. A smile broke out on his face.

“Good as new! Thank you,” he replied with a renewed enthusiasm. In one swift motion, he pulled his hammer up and gave it a few practice swings.

Loki watched, chewing at his lower lip, desperate to keep the conversation going. It had been too long since he’d got to spend time with someone his age. The old hags in the kitchen didn’t offer the best company and the queen could only entertain him in private.

“What are you training for?”

“One day,” he said, swinging the hammer and knocking the tin-man hard against its metal chest, “I’m going to have to protect this realm.”

“Protect it from what?” Loki settled into a more comfortable position, crossing his legs and resting his chin in his hands. Asgard hadn’t seen a war in years, it was the capital of all the realms, only a fool would think to invade.

“Monsters,” he said with another swing and Loki gave a little laugh. They were young, but still too old to believe in monsters. “Like the Jotnar.”

Another swing to the tin-man but, this time Loki felt as though it struck him.

“They aren’t monsters,” he protested, without really meaning to. “I bet you’ve never met one.”

The boy stopped, chest heaving and hammer hanging at his side.

“No,” he said carefully, once again eyeing Loki with a gut-wrenching suspicion. “From what I know, I hope I never do.”

Loki hid his flinch with a rueful laugh. He should have known— he could never have a friend in a place like this.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Loki shrugged in response, he really didn’t, but a sick part of him was curious. “I think my father should have left them to die, they were cursed for a reason.”

Father. That meant—

Loki felt sick to his stomach. He looked at the boy— no, Prince Thor— and wondered how he didn’t see it before. His golden hair was the same as Queen Frigga’s, even his smile was the same. The horrifying bloodlust? That was the king.

He stood abruptly, and Thor only blinked at him, probably confused as to why his company wasn’t gleefully agreeing with his hatred. Despising the people of Jotunheim seemed to be a favorite pastime among the Aesir.

Who was Loki to deny the prince what he wanted?

“You’re right, _my prince_ ,” he spat with a mocking bow of his head. “He should have left them.”

Unable to look at Thor any longer, he turned quickly on his heel with his hands balled into fists at his side. He didn’t trust himself not to punch with the intention to maim. That, unfortunately, would land him a punishment even the queen couldn’t get him out of.

“Wait—”

Loki didn’t let him finish, he marched back the way he came. He ignored the stinging in his eyes, afraid that if the tears spilled over they would freeze, leaving the evidence that they had been there at all.


	4. chapter O3

**Present day ;**

Loki swept a gloved finger through a layer of dust caked to one of the tables in the old garden, leaving behind a trail of dull gold. Frigga would be embarrassed if she could see the way the limbs and vines were all bare— an old glass room filled with rot. He was sure she was frowning, disheartened at the arboretum’s dilapidated state, just as he was.

If he had stayed—

No, leaving had been the best option; the _only_ option. Frigga had favored him, called him her son, and made sure he was fed more than stale bread. She had been his mother, all things considered— even if it was just within the walls of the garden.

His heart was a strange thing, he had spent years guarding it, fortifying walls like armor, but standing in the graveyard of the room— he ached. Loki missed the lush foliage in the greenhouse but, he missed Frigga more. He couldn’t have imagined the dull pain returning to Asgard brought.

And seeing Odin, pompous as ever on his throne with his lackeys at his feet, ready to kill and maim at his beck and call. He hadn’t changed a bit, ever the zealous fool, hellbent on a fantastical mission out of sheer desperation.

No, Odin hadn’t changed, but the young prince…

Well, technically, not so young anymore. If he remembered correctly, Prince Thor was around the same age as him— give or take a few years. It wasn’t like he had spent a great deal with him, only passing glances in the long stretches of the palace halls. Only once had Loki spoke to him, and it promptly cemented his assumption that Thor was a spoiled brat— at least that hadn’t changed.

“What are you doing in here?”

Loki closed his eyes and smiled, not bothering to turn around. He knew that voice, in fact, he had been waiting for it. The captain wasn’t a fool, he knew the prince would seek him out.

“I could ask you the same question,” he said carefully, finally spinning on his heel to face Thor. He looked angry still, his face in a scowl and his hand hovering over that stupid hammer. His gaze dropped to it and he couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. Tonight, was he to be the tin-man?

“Well, considering this is my home, it would not be a very good one,” Thor stated, hand falling away from the hammer’s hilt, but Loki noticed his fingers still twitching in anticipation.

Loki decided to ignore his sarcasm. Instead, he took the time to really look at the prince— he had tried to stay focused on Odin in the throne room. He had grown into his body, his muscles visible even through the regal attire. His hair was still as golden as Loki remembered, but considerably less shaggy, tied at the nape of his neck. One could definitely consider him handsome—if one was unaware that he was a self-righteous prick.

Unfortunately, Loki was very aware.

“I imagine this room was quite impressive once,” Loki commented when the silence that grew between them became unpalatable. He didn’t really have to imagine, of course, he knew first hand.

“It was my mother’s,” Thor said casually, looking around at the remnants of a garden. Loki knew that too. “After she passed, father never brought in a magic-user to keep it up.”

“And now,” Loki said quietly, picking up a twig and twirling it in his fingers idly, “there are none left. All of them used and dried up, your lands barren and crops withering.”

Loki frowned, but it was too exaggerated to be genuine. He watched as Thor’s fists curled and tightened. Maybe he wouldn’t use his hammer at all, maybe he’d just pummel him with his fists like a berserker.

The prince didn’t respond, so Loki pressed on. “That’s why the king is looking for the Tesseract, isn’t it?” Of course, it was— Loki wasn’t stupid.

Still, no response from Prince Thor.

“Let’s play a game.”

Thor’s head snapped up, his fiery glare locking on to Loki.

 _Ah_ , there it was.

“What?” The prince tried to sound nonchalant, but Loki could tell he was curious.

“Two truths and a lie,” Loki said simply. He moved to an old withered trellis and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. Thor eyed him carefully, muttering an agreement that had Loki grinning from ear to ear.

“One, I hate peppermint candies,” Loki began ticking off the statements with his fingers and Thor raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Two, I believe the Tesseract is out there.” Thor rolled his eyes at that one. “Three, I have full intention of retrieving it and bringing it safely back to Asgard.”

The prince actually laughed—though, it may have been at Loki’s expense.

“Now it’s your turn,” Loki urged him.

Thor shifted on his feet, looking truly nervous for the first time and Loki has a flash of a quick memory of a lanky child swinging a hammer too big for him.

“Fine,” the prince grumbled. “The last of the magic-users has passed, I believe my father is a fool for putting stock in a fairy tale, and,” Thor stopped, making sure he had Loki’s full attention. “I trust you completely.”

The smile remained on Loki’s face, but it was forced. He didn’t even have to ask what the lie was, he already knew.

“Well,” Loki sighed, “this has been fun.”

No, it really hadn’t.

Thor, apparently not as inclined to lie, said nothing; that was Loki’s cue to leave. He swept past him, turning at the door to curtsey like a lady.

“ _My prince_.”

Thor smirked.

“Captain.”

As Loki made his way back to the guest quarters, he fished into the pockets of his breeches to pull out a peppermint candy and popped it in his mouth.


	5. chapter O4

The morning came too soon. He barely had time to process— much less, reconsider— the arrangement. A servant pulled the thick, braided cord in his bathing chambers dropping the spicket from its hideaway in the wall, and instantly steaming hot water poured out, filling the gilded tub quicker than Thor could protest. He was bathed, clothed and ushered from his quarters quickly. Honestly, he was a tad insulted.

Before he knew it, he was being led out into the courtyard, his father waiting patiently with folded arms across from Captain Laufeyson— who looked entirely too smug for Thor’s liking. He was dressed considerably less decadent than the day before. The captain had traded his green and silver coat for a much simpler green tunic. His breeches were a light tan and a little boring for such an extravagant man but, the prince’s eyes were drawn to the thigh holster carrying a small blade. It wasn’t threatening on its own, but Thor trusted its owner knew how to wield her.

Laufeyson eyed him warily, smiling with all teeth. It was unsettling like he was rabid and cannibalistic, craving to sink his teeth into Thor’s flesh— dying to take a chunk out for lunch.

“You’re severely overdressed, my prince,” said Laufeyson.

Thor looked down, feeling a wave of self-consciousness. He hadn’t picked his outfit, he rarely did. His servants had put him in one of his nicer blouses and paired it with his red satin vest, gilded along the seams, equipped with cravat and everything.

Behind Laufeyson stood a large portion of his crew and Thor observed they were all dressed very much the same: black sleeveless tunics and breeches. And— something much more unsettling, _gasmasks_. Hundreds of soulless, black circles staring at him in salute.

“Their lungs aren’t suited to this air,” Loki commented when he noticed Thor staring, his mouth gaping in shock and, if he was being honest, terror.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to change his mind.

No, he had to do this— for his father, for Asgard. If the Tesseract was out there, it needed to return home with him. He didn’t trust Laufeyson or the unwarranted glamour he had over his father. With no magic left in Asgard and the crops dying, one-by-one, they were essentially running on a ticking time bomb. The poorer districts were already feeling the consequences, their rations coming last and in the lowest of quantities. Thor didn’t want to think about what would happen when they stopped coming altogether.

He _had_ to go.

He wished his father a very curt goodbye; Thor couldn’t ignore the lingering anger he held for him. The king offered him an awkward pat on the back and sent him tumbling after Laufeyson, who turned his back, commanding his crew to board the Commodore with an elegant flick of his wrist.  

——

In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting— but, it hadn’t been this. The moment they boarded the airship, Laufeyson waved down one of the carbon-copy crew members and mumbled something Thor couldn’t hear over the engines screaming to life. A masked face turned towards him and nodded before briskly walking over, grabbing his arm with a force that couldn’t be described as gentle. Thor made to protest but was tugged towards the back of the ship through throngs of black-clad bodies while Laufeyson, without so much as a glance his way, walked the opposite direction.

He was pushed through a large steel door to be smacked with an overwhelming heat at the top of a deep staircase. Thor paused, feet faltering, the air was already sweltering with a humidity that made him light-headed. It wasn’t long before the crewmate prodded him in the back and sent him stumbling into the hot darkness.

It seemed like Laufeyson hadn’t been joking when he suggested Thor’s role on the Commodore be one of physical labor. The moment he rounded the corner to enter the large room, basked in a red glow, littered with piles of coal, he knew what his job was. It was confirmed when the crewmate that had led him down to the boiler room threw a shovel in his direction, which he ungraciously caught.

Thor stood, shovel in hand, staring down like he had never seen the tool before in his life. To be fair—he never had to physically use one but, he knew the mechanics of the steamers. His tutor had thought it necessary for Thor to have the knowledge even though he would never be expected to do something so menial. The thought of her seeing him now, in this predicament, made him chuckle low under his breath.

“Did that shovel say something funny?”

Thor looked over to where the sarcastic jab had come from. Even though she had taken her gasmask off, the crewmate was no less terrifying. She wasn’t horribly marred or mangled, like some of the boiler workers he had seen at the palace—but, terrifying in a different sense. She was beautiful, all dark— skin, eyes, hair, and clothes— with a hardened expression that let Thor know she wouldn’t think twice about tossing him into the fire like a lump of coal.

If it bothered her that he didn’t reply, she didn’t show it. Instead she walked to a workbench, putting on a welding helmet and a large, thick pair of gloves that reached her elbows. Snatching a shovel from the corner, she edged past Thor, looking back at him and nodding her head. It unnerved him how she managed to look intimidating even with her face covered with the metal sheet.

“You’ll want to suit up,” and it was said in a tone that made it obvious that she didn’t care whether he did or not. Still, he silently nodded and mimicked her previous actions— finding a mask and pair of gloves haphazardly thrown on the workbench.

Thor approached her, watching her movements, the toned muscles of her arms flexing with each shovel of coal into the furnace. It was uncommon for women to do such work, or at least back in Asgard. He didn’t realize he spoke as much out loud until she gave a mirthless laugh beside him.

“It seems to me there is one woman and one man in here and it’s the woman who is doing all the work,” she commented, never breaking her relentless shoveling. Her words kicked him into gear and he quickly wrestled open the second furnace and began feeding coal into its burning, fiery mouth.

——

After hours of strenuous labor, Thor finally learned the name of the crewmate— Valkyrie. Though he somehow doubted that was the name given to her at birth, and even still, the title had been given reluctantly. She was remarkably meticulous, and he found himself wondering where Laufeyson found such a woman. When he asked as much, she snorted a muffled laugh from behind her mask and told him she had come with the ship.

At the end of their shift, she led them to the crew quarters, through a door connected to the boiler room, and to a room smaller than Thor’s closet back home. On each side of the cabin were two single beds, one on the ground and one hanging above. Between them, beneath the tiny, circular window, was a single desk already crowded with personal items. He was already claustrophobic— surely such a room couldn’t house four adults.

“The captain has requested I keep an eye on you,” Valkyrie said as she squeezed past him and snatched a half-empty bottle from the desk. In one gulp, she drained the remaining contents and Thor couldn’t help but pull a face. There was no way lukewarm mead tasted good.

“So,” she continued, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “that’s your bed there.” She pointed to one of the ground level mattresses and Thor gave a sigh of thanks because he was fairly certain he would send an upper bunk tumbling to the ground.

He moved to set on the bed, bouncing on the coiled springs lightly to test their durability. It wasn’t his plush, soft mattress back home, but it beat sleeping on the ground. Thor wondered, idly, what Laufeyson’s bed looked like— he could almost bet it was a couple steps up from this. He was sure the captain was relishing the fact he’d stuck the prince in a shared room akin to the palace’s servant quarters.

“You’re brooding,” Valkyrie observed. She was propped against the desk, leaning against it with her feet crossed at the ankles and arms crossed at the chest. “What’s the matter? Did you expect the captain to set you up in a room mirroring your princely chambers back home?”

Her tone wasn’t malicious, but it didn’t stop Thor from flinching back. He had told her his name, but not _who_ he was. But, it didn’t surprise him that she knew; it would make sense for Laufeyson to debrief Valkyrie before assigning her the job of the royal babysitter.

Not to mention, she wasn’t entirely wrong. There was a small part of him that hadn’t expected the captain to abandon him and shove him in a closet— even if he wasn’t expecting to be promoted to the first mate.

“Who else shares this room?”

“You’ll meet them soon enough,” she sighed, rummaging through the hodge-podge on the desk, picking up bottles and shaking them to test their contents. Finally, she found one she was satisfied with and tilted her head back, drinking it down swiftly.

It was a very vague and unhelpful answer, but he didn’t expect to get much more out of her. He turned on the bed to lay flat against the stiff mattress that grew increasingly more uncomfortable as the minutes dragged on. He was tired, both physically and mentally, and even though his stomach growled with hunger, he closed his eyes to let sleep take him.

——

When he awoke, it was with a jolt, startled by the unfamiliar dark, empty room. It took him a moment to recollect and organize his thoughts; he was on the Commodore, a giant ship floating in the sky, chasing a myth. Right, perfectly normal.

Thor’s muscles ached, a familiar feeling from his days after training. It wasn’t the burning ache that bothered him, but the hunger pains sharp in his stomach. He sat up, fumbling in the dark for the dangling cord in the middle of the room he remembered seeing earlier; one tug lit up the room.

After his eyes adjusted to the warm, flickering light, he noticed the stack of clothing folded and piled neatly at the end of the bed. Perched on top was a notecard instructing him to wear the garments until a proper uniform was tailored for him; it was signed with an elegant and swooping ‘ _L_ ’.  

As much as he hated to obey any order from Laufeyson, he submitted. The tan breeches fit fine, but the white, linen blouse was a smidge too tight for his personal liking. He snapped the given leather suspenders into place and at once was utterly appreciative there wasn’t a mirror to reveal how much he resembled a commoner.

Thankfully, he was left with his own boots— a small part of his old wardrobe not stripped from him. After lacing them up and giving the steel-toe a tap against the scuffed floors, he ventured out of the cabin into an empty corridor. Thor realized, suddenly, that he had no idea where the mess hall was, and his stomach churned angrily at the revelation.

It would make sense that it would be below deck with everything else, but as he rounded a corner to meet a staircase going up, he was struck with the raw need for a breath of fresh air. With a silent apology to his growling stomach, he decided his hunger could wait.

The thing about growing up on Asgard was, he had never really experienced fresh air— not as it was meant to be, at least. So, as he pushed open the heavy door at the top of the stairs, the sudden intake of _actual_ fresh air nearly knocked him out. It was unlike anything he had experienced, clean and sharp— exhilarating.

He took a deep breath, and then another, smiling and stumbling to catch himself on a pillar. For a fleeting moment he deeply hoped the Tesseract existed, so he might bring the feeling to all of Asgard. Adrenaline pumping, Thor finally looked up at the sky and all the breath he had just cherished, leaves him in a small gasp.

Thor had only ever seen the stars in illustrations and maps— none of those things could have ever prepared him for the beauty of the real thing. It was, for lack of a better word, breathtaking.

He walked mindlessly, staring up at the vast sky dotted with lights until he was flush with the railing of the ship. He gripped the banister tight, knuckles turning white. A sadness thrummed through him, poking at his heart; he wished his mother could experience this with him. If what he knew was right, she was among the constellations— which one was she?

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Thor recognized the voice behind him, accompanied by slow, methodical steps. Still, he couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed at the captain’s sudden presence. It wasn’t until Laufeyson was standing next to him, too close for Thor’s personal comfort, that he acknowledged him.

“I can see why you are fond of this ship,” Thor replied because it was true. He had never understood the appeal of leaving the safe ground until now.

Laufeyson looked down at his hands, a small smile on his lips— almost bashful in nature. It was a strange look on him. Beneath the glow of the stars, illuminating his pale skin, he looked soft. _Beautiful_ , Thor’s brain supplied without his consent. He quickly turned his attention back to the vastness of space, a much safer place.

“You’ve never been above Asgard, then?”

Thor shook his head solemnly in response. “I’ve never even left.”

“Ah,” Laufeyson clucked his tongue and nudged him as if they were old friends. Thor blamed his euphoric state as the reason he allowed such familiarity. “So, I’m responsible for your first time seeing stars?”

Thor couldn’t help but blush at the captain’s words and their suggestive meaning and he silently prayed that Laufeyson couldn’t see his fluster. So, he pretended the innuendo went amiss and simply answered an affirmative, rather than engage in banter.

“How do you like Brunnhilde?” Laufeyson asked, either not noticing— or pretending not to notice— Thor’s embarrassment.

“Who?”

“I’m sorry,” the captain laughed, turning his back to the railing to lean against it. “Valkyrie,” he corrected himself and Thor nodded in understanding.

“She’s,” Thor found himself searching for a word that wasn’t _intimidating_ , “fine.”

Laufeyson smirked at that. “I’m sure she would be thrilled to know that you find her _fine_.”

Thor watched the captain laugh to himself, tilting his head to the sky, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath. He looked so human— so different from the stories he was fed about the people of Jotunheim. He also looked…familiar, in a way that Thor couldn’t place.

That realization smacked him. Laufeyson looked familiar, and not just from the newspapers he sometimes starred in after a particularly elaborate con.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I suppose you just did,” Laufeyson stated mockingly, opening one eye and cutting it over to Thor.

“When my father rescued you,” Thor started, ignoring the sneer from Laufeyson after the word _rescue._ “Where did they take you and your family?”

The captain lowered his head, turning slightly to face Thor, his lips pursed into a thin line as he studied the prince. After what seemed like forever, he sighed and bundled his arms around him, fixing his stony expression into the vast nothingness of the night.

“A horrible place,” he said, quietly.

Thor was overcome with the urge to reach out and give a friendly pat but stopped himself. He was sure Laufeyson would find no comfort in it. After all, how friendly could it be when neither considered the other a friend?

“Sorry,” Thor found himself saying instead.

“Don’t be, it wasn’t _you_ who took me from my home and separated me from my family,” Laufeyson snapped with a wry grin. He _said_ it wasn’t him, but his words conveyed that he blamed Thor all the same.

“You were separated?” Thor asked, knowing full well he should stop pressing.

He felt Laufeyson tense beside him. He carefully unfolded his arms and turned to lean over the railing, black hair falling to obscure his sharp profile. “You know, I should just shove you off the side and be done with it,” he said with such a nonchalance that Thor wondered, briefly, if he was serious.

Thor followed his gaze over the edge. Below them, thick clouds of smog churned like a sea of ruthless black waves. He found himself wondering how far away they were from Asgard and how far the pollution stretched.

They stood like that, standing and looking out where the stars met the smog, silent except for the breeze and working of machines. It was oddly peaceful, a nonverbal understanding that they were both bound to this senseless mission.

Thor was so engulfed in the calm beauty before him he didn’t notice the captain had disappeared from beside him. He turned, blinking at the empty space, suddenly overwhelmed by Laufeyson’s absence.

His short walk back to the cabin felt impossibly long, and his stomach— once again— reminded him he needed to eat. So, it was with reluctance that he slipped back into his bunk. In the dark, he could make out the sleeping, breathing lumps of his other cabinmates. Thor curled in on himself, pulling the scratchy blanket to his chin. Despite being in a tiny room with three other people, he found he still felt very alone.


	6. chapter O5

The second time Thor woke in the cramped cabin, he didn’t panic— at least, not right away. He blinked his tired eyes, staring up at the bottom of the upper bunk as his brain muddled through the sleepy fog. Then, from the other side of the room, came a distinct _clinking_ noise. He turned his stiff neck, fully expecting Valkyrie, but instead, was met with the sight of a man fiddling with a metal arm— _his arm_ —in his lap.

Thor shot up, slamming his head on the top bunk, wincing and moving quickly to rub the tender knot forming against his hairline. The man stopped fidgeting with the delicate gadgets to look up for a brief moment. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years, Thor thought, a little disappointed in his sudden judgment.

“You’re awake,” he commented rather blandly before addressing his attention back to the project in his lap.

“Yeah,” Thor croaked, throat suddenly dry. He tried not to stare at the angry, thick scars mixed with metal plates and wires on the man’s stump of a shoulder. He had seen it, of course, men and women alike with mechanical limbs. But— never anything like this, never something so raw and _real._

“Bucky,” the man said, and it took a moment for Thor to realize he was introducing himself.

“Thor.”

“Before coming here,” Bucky said, not bothering to look up, “I worked for a pirating vessel.” It was an explanation for his arm, he realized.

Thor blinked, about to ask him what exactly he thought the Commodore was but decided against it. The man snapped a piece in the arm into place and began reattaching it to himself—rather painfully if Thor had to guess.

“Well,” he continued as he bent and unbent his arm, frowning when the joint stuck for a brief moment. “Hydra’s captain was not as forgiving as Captain Laufeyson.”

Bucky gave him a rueful smile and Thor tried hard to return it. He had heard of Hydra, a notorious pirating airship that hailed from Midgard. It, like _nearly_ all others that took part in nefarious activities, had been taken out— the captain and crew seized to labor away in whichever prison had a vacancy. 

One day, Thor thought, the same fate would befall the Commodore.

\-- --

Valkyrie arrived back in the cabin sometime later baring a gift. Thankfully, for Thor’s rumbling stomach, that gift was a basket consisting of breakfast. She sauntered to the lone desk and cleared an area for the basket with an ungraceful swipe of her arm, bottles clattered and rolled across the floor. Bucky, who was unperturbed by her manner, held his hand out for Valkyrie to deposit a plum.

Wait—

“Where did you get that?”

Valkyrie arched a dark brow. “The mess hall, where else?”

“No, _that_ ,” Thor clarified, thrusting a finger at the plum in Bucky’s hand.

Fruit was a delicacy, even for Asgard royalty. As the mages slowly dwindled, fresh produce was scarce. Asgard’s orchards had been overseen by the powerful mage Idunn and, in the end, she was the last magic user that stood. After her inevitable passing, an order was placed to have all the remaining harvests preserved for the ration reservoirs. Thor hadn’t seen a piece of wholly-intact fruit in over five years.

Yet— here was Laufeyson with it in apparent abundance.

“Laufeyson does dealings with all the realms. Not just Asgard,” she shrugged, fishing an apple from the basket and tossing it to him.

He caught it— only fumbling slightly with his anger-induced trembling. He would toss it back to her out of spite if he wasn’t so hungry. Instead, he took a crisp bite— sweet juice offsetting the bitter skin. It was delightful but still didn’t do much to calm the anger swelling inside him.

“The other realms are under contract with the capital, _Asgard_ ,” he explained, chewing with his mouth open. It was an unsightly gesture for a prince but, he didn’t feel much like royalty on the Commodore. Here he was just Thor and Thor spoke with his mouth full.

“Your point?” Valkyrie asked dryly, breaking off a piece of bread and handing it to Bucky and then repeating the gesture for Thor.

“ _My point_ ,” he pressed through gritted teeth. Still, he took the bread and shoved it into his mouth unceremoniously. Valkyrie watched, amused. “Excess harvest is given to Asgard in exchange for protection, _not_ to pirate vessels.”

Valkyrie and Bucky exchanged a look that Thor couldn’t read.

“You think the Commodore is a pirate airship?” It was the first time Thor noticed even a hint of heightened emotion in Bucky’s voice.

Thor stared at them dumbly, blinking.

“Yes, of course.” His eyebrows knit together in confusion and he tilted his head like the change of angle would make the conversation more sensible. “Don’t you?”

“Have you ever met an _actual_ pirate?” Valkyrie asked, as if he wasn’t in the room with two. He debated saying as much, but decided it wasn’t worth it. He knew it wasn’t in his best interest to anger two of his roommates— and the closest to companions he had on the ship.

“Right,” she snorted, taking his silence as an answer. She wasn’t wrong, Laufeyson aside, Thor had never actually met one. His knowledge stemmed largely from court meetings and bits overheard from his father.

“Anyway, I picked up your uniform from the tailor,” she continued tersely, opening up a side compartment of the basket to pull out black breeches and a sleeveless tunic. Great, now he was to blend in with the hive. “I’ll show you the bathhouse after our shift in the boiler room.”

There was nothing Thor wanted more than a hot bath, but he didn’t argue. He somehow doubted he would be granted two baths in one day, so better to save it for after.

“Thanks,” he said meekly, holding the clothes against his chest like a child with their blanket.

“Don’t be late.”

\-- --

Thor hated the uniform—loathed it entirely. He wasn’t aware that he could despise clothes to the extent that he did. With the all-black attire, he blended in, he was lost. Beneath the uniform he felt stripped bare— he was officially just Thor, no longer a prince. He hated the uniform and he hated the man that forced him to wear it.

\-- --

His shift in the boiler room went by quick enough, though he found himself shoveling the coal with more force than necessary. Valkyrie had even made the off-handed comment, which he ignored in favor of shoveling even more. If anything, it was great stress relief.

Still, when he emerged from the confines of the lower deck, hit with the midday air, his anger had only simmered slightly.

Above deck was nearly empty, with the exception of a few straggling crewmates loading cargo from place to place. The sun gleamed off the wide expanse of polished floorboards— a job Thor was thankful he didn’t have—and a light breeze brushed against his too-scruffy cheek, blowing the loose, sweaty strands of blonde hair from his forehead.

The air was calming, clean, and it soothed him more than the boiler room.

His boots were heavy on the deck as he walked to the ledge overlooking large swaths of dirt and sand. This far away from Asgard, the black clouds had cleared, revealing the crumbling world below. At least, he thought, the smog covered the true state of things. It was barren— a dusty wasteland; Jotunheim’s scorched counterpart.

Behind him, he heard the swinging of a heavy iron door, followed by the unmistaken voice of Laufeyson calmly issuing orders to the crewmate trailing behind him. Thor watched him from his peripheral vision, careful not to draw attention to himself— careful not to portray his anger, or act on it.

“Oh, and be sure to check in with—”

Laufeyson stopped abruptly and Thor watched him pivot in his direction, causing every muscle in his body to tense. He had really hoped the captain would be so caught up in _whatever_ he was doing, that he would glide right past him. Unfortunately, Laufeyson stood with rapt attention—smiling with that familiar unsettling grin.

Thor sighed, giving up, and turned directly into the line of fire.

“Captain,” he greeted, pithily.

“Thor,” came the aloof response. Thor watched as Laufeyson’s eyes shined with delight when he winced at the unwarranted familiarity. “Lovely day. Isn’t it?”

He growled under his breath, fist clenching tight and trembling slightly with the urge to hit. This man—this _monster_ —had the nerve to interfere with Asgard’s trading networks and then, turn around with the audacity to exchange pleasantries about the _weather_?

“Yes, especially after such a _fine_ breakfast.”

Laufeyson raised a thick brow, grin closing into a pursed, tight-lipped smile.

“Oh?”

“I was wondering,” Thor continued, a surge of courage taking hold of his body as he made a— what he hoped was threatening— step forward. The lackey at Laufeyson’s back took note and came to step between them, readying his hand at the blade on his waist. “How someone such as yourself came across such delicacies? If I may ask, that is.”

Laufeyson looked him up and down in a sweeping smooth, languid motion. His gaze finally settled on Thor’s face, his expression bored and unamused.

“You may not.”

The smart remark snapped the last thread of composure he had left. Thor hurled himself forward, crowding into the captain’s space, fisting a handful of his fine tunic to drag him closer. He could see the exact moment Laufeyson’s carefully crafted defense dropped—it was just a flash, a spark of terror in his wide, green eyes.

The crewmate tagging along the captain lunged to give a pitiful tug at his bicep, but Laufeyson raised his hand and gave a delicate flick of his wrist and Thor felt the hold on his arm loosen and slink away. He allowed his gaze to leave Laufeyson’s intense stare long enough to watch the owlish man take a step back, clearly disgruntled at the dismissal of his attempt at chivalry.

“Leave us,” Laufeyson commanded and the lackey obeyed— begrudgingly so.

It left the two of them alone on the big open deck, the hot sun beating down and Thor’s angry panting even hotter. Laufeyson regarded him calmly, a twitch of a smirk on his thin lips as he reached up with both hands to coil his slender fingers around Thor’s wrists.

“Now, Thor, this isn’t very princely of you,” chastised the captain.

Thor ignored the sharp barb and instead tightened his grip, jerking Laufeyson even closer— a bad move. In an instant, Thor’s hands were ripped from their hold and he felt a knee collide with his gut. He doubled over, but Laufeyson was quicker— nimbler. In one fluid movement, he slammed Thor against the wall, elbow pressed sharply into Thor’s chest, pinning him there with an unforeseen strength.  

Thor let out a whine of pain as Laufeyson’s elbow bore down harder. Before he could try to twist from the captain’s grasp, his brain registered the cool press of a blade to his throat. Thor gulped and felt the knife move with him. Laufeyson’s face split into a grin.

“You underestimate me,” whispered the captain, low and thick with anger. It sent a chill down Thor’s spine; he made to move but the blade pressed harder, stilling him instantly. “You’ll learn to do so is a mistake.”

“You won’t kill me,” Thor tried. In reality, he was fairly certain the Jotun had it in him to slit his throat right there and toss the evidence right off the Commodore’s ledge.

“No,” Laufeyson said evenly, entirely too calm to be comforting. He leaned in even closer, pushing painfully with his entire weight against Thor’s chest. The knife pressed just a fraction harder and he felt the stinging prick of a blade breaking the skin.

“But,” he continued. His eyes trailed the drop of blood Thor felt trickle from the puncture with a crazy, inhuman hunger.  Laufeyson leaned forward, blowing cool air on the cut—his tongue darting out to lick at his own bottom lip. For a moment, Thor feared he would lick the blood clean off his throat. “I can make you hurt. Aren’t that what _monsters_ like me do?”

Its the way he said _monster_ that has Thor reeling with something very close to sympathy. “You’re not a monster,” Thor gasped, and he isn’t entirely sure why he said it. The man had a knife pressed against his throat. The man had just cut him. He was a Jotun— was he not a monster? Was he not a monster just a moment ago?

Laufeyson gave a rueful laugh and it was a broken, hollow sound. He let up, pushing himself back and away from Thor, who gratefully took a deep breath and raised a tentative hand to smudge away the blood from his neck.

“I could do it you know,” Laufeyson whispered, quiet and into the open air.

“What?” Thor moved from his neck to knead at the tender place on his chest where he was sure a bruise would blossom.

“Kill you.”

Thor couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. Laufeyson cut his eyes over, sharp, and frowned— like a child not taken seriously. So, to pacify him, Thor threw his hands up in surrender. “I know, you’ve demonstrated that well.”

It was easier to indulge than to say: _You could, but you haven’t_.

Laufeyson gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. “Well,” he said, letting out a breath, “I’m growing bored and your presence is irritating. What did you want to ask me again?”

In the midst of all the dramatics, Thor had almost forgotten why he was angry in the first place.

“The food—”

“Was it not up to par with _my prince’s_ royal taste?” Laufeyson quipped.

“That’s not it,” Thor growled.

“Of course not.” The captain smiled mockingly, and Thor resisted the urge to punch yet again. However, he knew everything would be easier if they weren’t clawing at each other after every breath, so he decided against it.

“You cannot go behind the King’s back and dabble in his trade affairs,” Thor burst and Laufeyson— the bastard— laughed.  “You cannot have a ship full of produce while the people of Asgard live off rationed preserves.”

It sounded petty, ridiculous even, to his own ears. So, Thor wasn’t able to justify his anger when Laufeyson had the nerve to look stunned.

“You act as though I am the sole reason Asgard suffers.”

“The agreements are put into place for a reason. We offer them protection—"

Laufeyson openly balked at that, sucking in a sharp little breath. He bit at his lip, trying to stifle back a comment.

“Who do you think you are protecting them from?”

Thor frowned, deep lines creasing between his eyes. He opened his mouth but found he had no answer. He would say pirates—fleets like Hydra or the Ravagers— but he knew that wasn’t true. Their fights and fancy were restricted to the sky, a place no commoner ever saw.

Laufeyson took a step forward, but it was far less aggressive than before. “Thor,” he spoke with a low voice. His hand reached up to the place he’d cut on Thor’s neck, hovering over the skin until he was given a tiny nod of approval. Laufeyson swiped a gentle finger over the cut, pressing lightly to elicit a small gasp from Thor. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Thor hissed, squirming under his touch.

“Are you just dim?” Laufeyson asked, annunciating by pressing harder on the little cut. “Or, are you just that naïve?”

Thor just shook his head, not giving an appropriate answer to any of the questions being asked. The pressure let up from his neck and he gasped, hands scrambling for purchase on the wall behind him. He couldn’t figure out what exactly was happening—what game they were playing.

“They give your father— the king— parts of the harvest in exchange for…” He trailed his sentence, making it obvious Thor was supposed to complete it.

“Protection,” Thor tried.

Laufeyson pressed the wound again and it sent a stinging pain along his neck, causing him to screw his eyes shut and slam his head hard against the wall he was once again backed into.

“Ah, ah,” Laufeyson chided. “From who?”

“You?”

Another painful press of the captain’s thumb. A sweat was breaking out on Thor’s forehead, along with something else that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—put a name to.

“Me?” Thor tried, desperately, and the pressure let up, once again, but slightly.

“Warmer.”

Thor forced his eyes back open, letting his head drop back down. Laufeyson looked overwrought and wild; his pupils were blown so black all the green was lost. Suddenly, Thor knew the answer the captain was fishing for.

“My father,” Thor breathed out and he is rewarded with a soothing, gentle caress from Laufeyson’s thumb. Thor tried to lean into the calming touch. It took a moment for his brain to realize he’s answered correctly.

“Wait— what do you mean?”

There is no punishment for his question, Laufeyson only continued to rub soft circles into the now wet flesh.

“In exchange for a percent of the harvests, he allows the magic users of other realms to stay at home with their families. He doesn’t take them to burn from the inside out in Asgard.”

The accusation hit him like a ton of bricks but, strangely, it’s a sick feeling in his gut opposed to anger.

“What?” Thor’s voice is all but a hoarse croak.

“You didn’t know?”

“It's not true,” Thor blurts out, but even he doesn’t convince himself.

“How do you think I came to be in Asgard?”

“My father—”

“Don’t you say he _rescued_ me,” Laufeyson gritted, pulling his hand away with a quick jerk. “I was happy in my homeland. I had a family. I can’t even remember their faces. Do you know how that feels?” Thor opened his mouth but wasn’t given the chance to respond. “No, you don’t. You just sit in your golden palace powered by machines that are fueled with the blood and sweat of people like me.”

Thor is left speechless, splayed flat and heaving against the wall. Laufeyson looked to be in no better shape. There was a thin shine of sweat on his pale face, pupils still were blown, black curls coming loose from their typical poise, and teeth bared for a fight. He looked like a broken shell of a man, consumed by an ancient vendetta.

“My father must have had a good reason.”

Laufeyson gave a mirthless chuckle, staring at his thumb red with Thor’s blood. “Your loyalty will be the death of you,” he murmured.

Thor felt his lips stretch into a smile, he dipped his head, catching Laufeyson’s gaze with his own— forcing the eye contact to remain.

“Will you be the one to bring it?”

“Trust me.”

“I do,” Thor said, and found it to be the truth.


	7. chapter O6

Loki found the way to his cabin alarmingly fast, his heart still stuttering a quick beat beneath his breast. With his back pressed firmly against his door, he allowed his mind to clear the panic that had already begun to set in. He’d just assaulted the prince of Asgard.

Tesseract or not— regardless of his command on his own godforsaken ship— Odin would no doubt have his head upon their return.

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose while hanging his head in exhaustion, both physical and mental. He dropped his hand, staring down at his thumb still smudged with Thor’s blood, filling him with dread—but also, a strange and twisted satisfaction.

On most days, he liked to fancy himself composed, even with his given affinity for mischief here and there. But, there was something in the way Thor had acted; as though he had the authority to _touch_ him— to _grab_ him.

 _Then_ Thor had to go and muck up all Loki’s swelling anger. And, that was truly when Loki’s brain short-circuited, a wrench tossed into a typically well-oiled machine. There was such desperation and confusion in Thor’s eyes when the truth had been exposed to him. A natural helplessness, which Loki doubted he had the ability to fake. 

But still, in the end, Thor was pulled back to Odin’s ravenous paws— still tethered to the throne of Asgard.

Even if Thor disagreed, it was obvious he would still blindly defend his father.

Loki scrubbed his thumb on the rough fabric of his pants until the blood chipped and withered away.

——

“Captain, you’re looking bluer than normal.”

Loki heaved a dramatic sigh, disrupting his pensive stare into the desert horizon.

“Is that a jab at my heritage?”

Brunnhilde snorted beside him, coming to rest her elbows on the ship’s railing. The setting sun gave her dark skin a warm glow— like the fire that she was.

“I’m not dim, I know Jotnar aren’t blue,” she scoffed, giving him a playful nudge with her elbow.

“Interestingly enough, there is some truth in it,” he said, and Brunnhilde arched a dark brow. “In times of conflict, warriors would paint themselves blue. Believe it or not, Jotunheim liked to keep to itself— so, many only saw us on the battlefield of war.”

Brunnhilde nodded her head in understanding. She too wore decorative paint: two white lines cutting down her left eye. It was a common practice in the city of Sakaar, where Loki first met her. She wasn’t born there, but instead, of Asgard— a tidbit of herself only a select few were privy to.

Still, when Loki betrayed the Grandmaster of Sakaar and took off with his ship, Brunnhilde had followed willingly. The paint was just an old keepsake of a forgotten life.

“I’m surprised to not see you literally blue then,” she said coolly, pulling him from his thoughts.

Loki laughed quietly under his breath and turned to regard her with thinly-concealed amusement. “We are not in battle, we are taking part in a glorified scavenger hunt.”

“Maybe _we_ aren’t, but you certainly seem to be waging your own war with the Prince.”

Loki felt his body go rigid, but he kept his face trained still and uncracking. Turning back to the horizon before them, he watched the orange and pink clouds that held stagnant around the low-hanging sun. Brunnhilde, however, didn’t take her eyes off of him— he could feel her stare pricking at his skin.

“What did he say?” Loki finally asked, after the silence and her knowing gaze became too much.

“Nothing, but he’s been brooding.”

“And you think that has anything to do with me?” Loki snapped back. Brunnhilde didn’t flinch at his tone, but her lips turned slightly in a frown.

“Doesn’t it?”

She was lucky he liked her— respected her, even admired. To anyone else, save a limited few, this conversation would have been over, and the most tedious and mind-numbing task would have been assigned.

“He’s probably just pouting because he isn’t being waited on hand-and-foot. His bed isn’t pillowed with goose-down? The walls aren’t gilded and encrusted with jewels— I don’t know,” Loki gasped out. He sounded defeated to his own ears.

Brunnhilde stayed quiet, leveling him with a stare that made his fingers twitch along the ship’s railing.

“He isn’t so bad.”

Loki gave a mirthless laugh. What did she know about Thor Odinson— Prince of Asgard? She had fled the capital in her youth, never being forced to endure life under the pressure of Odin’s thumb. Sakaar wasn’t a picture-perfect scenario, especially in its later years, but it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t blame her, after all, he had also run.

Perhaps, that was why he felt such a kinship with her; a kinship that tempered his urge to dismiss her entirely.

“How is he performing?”

“Thor is a very hard worker. And, a lot of help,” she replied. She stared off into the distance, brows knitted together as she contemplated her claim. Loki couldn’t be sure what was rattling around in that head of hers, but she eventually nodded, frowning at whatever realization she made. “I’ll hate to see him go.”

Loki bristled. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He wanted her to tell him that Thor utterly failed in the pits of the boiler room— that his princely hands couldn’t take the grueling labor required of him. He _did_ _not_ want to hear that Brunnhilde— _Valkyrie_ , who regarded everyone with cool indifference—appreciated his presence. 

“Good,” he replied, even though he didn’t mean it at all.

“Captain, can you do me a favor?”

Loki didn’t answer, only gestured vaguely with his hand. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for favors, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt her to ask.

“Stop looking for the things wrong in Thor, you’ll let them overshadow the good.”

A strange, twisting sensation turned in his gut like a blade. In many ways, Loki would have preferred a knife to the phantom pain—at least _that_ he could put a name to.

He didn’t respond, because he also wasn’t in the mood to humor. Brunnhilde didn’t seem to mind, she probably hadn’t been expecting anything, to begin with. She was smart though, she knew the seed now planted in the back of his mind.

——

Spite was a powerful thing and it was the driving force behind Loki’s decision to avoid Thor at all cost. He wouldn’t let the seed sprout.

For the most part, it wasn’t too hard. Thor spent most of his time below deck, working and resting. Still, every night, like clockwork, he would make his way upstairs to sit in the quiet dark of the stars. It took a couple of almost-incidents for Loki to realize his schedule— but, after that, it was easy to take the necessary precautions to avoid the Prince.

Loki paced back and forth in his room, he wasn’t used to being cooped up, imprisoned in his own home. Yes, spite was powerful, but it wasn’t going to protect him from cabin-fever. He cast an impatient glance at the clock hanging on his wall, taking note of the late hour— Thor would be on the deck. 

He could walk out, confident and uncaring— ignoring Thor’s presence altogether— and simply enjoy a breath of air that wasn’t from his own musty sleeping quarters. But, then Thor may attempt to _engage_ and if their last interaction was anything to go by— that wouldn’t go swimmingly. 

Loki didn’t trust Thor, and he certainly didn’t trust himself.

He turned, giving himself an appraising look in his ornate full-length mirror. His self-induced isolation had made him a little rough around the edges; beneath his eyes were almost purple, his lips chapped from nervous biting, and his hair a little too oily.

Eyes closed, he called forth his magic. The familiar electric sensation weaved its way through his veins, illuminating a green cast that engulfed his body. After a moment, the feeling ebbed away, and he opened his eyes to see nothing but an empty room in the reflection of the mirror.

It had been a while since he had attempted an invisibility spell, he was glad to know he still had it in him.

——

Loki had been correct, not that he doubted himself.

Thor had taken his normal spot on the deck— a far corner facing west, close to the door leading to the barracks. He was knelt down, leaning back on his haunches, with his hands on his thighs. And, as usual, Thor was enamored by the cosmic scenery before him.

The logical portion of Loki’s brain told him to enjoy the night on the opposite end of the deck. However, his curiosity told him to do the exact opposite.

Loki made his way to the west corner—acutely aware of the squeaky boards beneath his feet. Thor only caught notice of one creak due to a particularly faulty plank, causing him to cut his eyes in Loki’s direction, but ultimately disregarded it when he saw nothing there.

He lowered himself beside Thor, sitting cross-legged and invisible.

Thor cleared his throat, and Loki thought for a fleeting moment he’d been caught. But, the Prince never looked over, only bowed his head. Loki watched as his fingers flexed nervously against his thighs.

“All-seeing Goddesses,” Thor started, voice hoarse and cracked—and, Loki jumped slightly at the sudden noise. “I know it has been a while since I’ve last offered worship to you.” His fingers curled into fists and Loki watched his face scrunch up in the moonlight.

“But,” he continued, and Loki could do nothing but watch and listen to his sloppy prayer. “I ask that you deliver a message to my mother.”

Loki’s heart froze at the mention of Frigga, turning to look at the star-splattered sky— where he knew Thor believed she now resided. It was a comforting thought.

“I ask her for her guidance,” Thor choked out, almost a sob. He opened his eyes, and Loki couldn’t be sure in the dark, but they seemed to glisten.

Thor stared up at the stars, searching them with a desperate and frantic plea. Nothing happened, the wind only blew quietly around them. Then, Thor gave a groan of frustration and pressed his palms into his eyes.

For a man of his enormous and imposing stature, he looked very small at that moment—beneath the countless constellations and Loki’s grand ship.

“Stupid,” Thor muttered and flung himself back on the deck, lying flat with his hands pillowing his head.

Loki followed suit, quietly and carefully mirroring Thor’s position. Only, while Thor kept his eyes focused upwards, Loki let his head fall to the side to better study the Prince that unknowingly lay next to him.  The moonlight illuminated his profile in a way that was almost serene—a strange contrast to the natural ruggedness of his character.

His beard had grown scruffier since their departure weeks ago from Asgard. It made Thor look older and less-prince like; further distancing him from the spoiled brat image seared into Loki’s mind. He just looked like a man who was a little bit lost, a little unsure, a little scared. It was oddly soothing for Loki to entertain the idea that someone like Thor could share the same sentiments as himself.  

He almost felt bad for spying on such an intimate moment— praying to his dead mother in the comforting solitude of the night, believing he was alone.

_Almost._

——

When Thor pulled himself up, Loki followed. His back was starting to ache from the stiffness of the deck’s hard planks. He was also thankful that the creaking of his aging bones didn’t alert Thor of his presence.

In the dark, Loki could barely make out the small cut still present on Thor’s neck. In a moment of stupidity, he reached out, his fingers stretching towards the marked skin. He brushed his fingertips along the spot, and Thor instantly reached up to slap a hand over the place Loki caressed— Loki pulled back just in time.

Thor looked around with his face twisted in confusion, probably searching for a guilty insect, and hesitantly lowered his hand to reveal to Loki that the spell had worked—the skin was now smooth and unmarred. He knew it would be, minor healing spells were infinitely easier than invisibility charms.

Then, Thor turned directly into his space, inches apart, and Loki sucked in a breath and held it. His face was pinched into a frown, but he looked directly through the Captain. The seconds seemed like hours, and Loki feared he’d run out of breath before Thor finally moved away.

Once the Prince disappeared behind the iron door, he exhaled. Loki found the way to his cabin alarmingly fast, his heart still stuttering a quick beat beneath his breast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and feedback are always appreciated. <3  
> as always, you can find me at www.shineonloki.tumblr.com


	8. chapter O7

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Valkyrie paused in her work and shoved her welding helmet up for the sole purpose of giving him a judgmental, but confused squint. Thor mimicked her actions so she read on his face that he wasn’t joking— he was being earnest. Her expression didn’t change.

“Maybe not a ghost then,” he added, and suddenly felt stupid for even bringing it up. Only, his recent nightly rendezvous on the deck had him a bit unsettled. “Maybe just that deceased can still reach out to us somehow?”

“I think that would be considered a ghost.”

Ghosts were a moaning spectral in a flowing gown and rattling chains— what he felt was more of a presence and a chilling sensation that he was being watched. Despite the heat, his skin goosebumped at the memory.  

“Forget it,” he mumbled and made to push down his helmet again, but Valkyrie shot out an arm to stop him.

“Break,” she explained, walked to the workbench and shucked off her gloves to fish a container of dried jerky from their lunchbox. Thor took the proffered sliver and ripped a chunk off with his teeth. He didn’t like it as well as the fruit and vegetables aboard the ship, but it was hearty and did the job.

“Did you see a ghost, Odinson?”

“No, it was just a strange feeling the other night up on the deck. I probably just spooked myself,” he answered honestly since he detected no hint of actual mockery in her voice.

Valkyrie chewed carefully, watching him with an intense glare, working something out in her head. Her eyes darted between Thor and the door like she might see a full-blown apparition standing in the frame.

She swallowed, slowly and visibly.

“It was probably nothing.”

“Yeah, you may be right,” Thor told her, but he couldn’t shake the feeling she was wrong. A part of him even hoped she was.

The silences between them were always comfortable— Valkyrie was never eager to fill it. But, as minutes ticked away, Thor itched to get out of his own head.

He considered asking her about Laufeyson, about his integrity, about whether or not he could be trusted— but, decided against it. It would be unlikely for him to get an unbiased answer from her. Valkyrie obviously trusted him, he’d seen her on more than one occasion talking privately with the Captain and it seemed they had a closer relationship than most. He wondered just how _close_ they were— not that it was any of his business. But, they were both attractive people and even Thor felt the threads of loneliness on the ship.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Valkyrie asked him, shaking him from thoughts that were quickly treading into inappropriate territory.

“Just thinking,” Thor answered, and decided to not elaborate on what. Somehow he doubted she would appreciate him questioning whether or not she snuck private moments in hidden alcoves with Captain Laufeyson on particularly lonely nights— that was also assuming she even got lonely. He couldn’t be sure with her.

Valkyrie reached out and laid a gentle touch on his forearm, face softening in a rare moment of genuine sympathy. She then drew back,  the comforting gesture leaving quicker than it came. Thor appreciated it all the same.

“It doesn’t do any good to dwell on ghosts,” she told him. “Looking back is what got the world into its current state— not enough looking forward.”

She was right, of course. Machines were always being built and anchored, a feeble attempt to improve past methods, while never grasping the consequences of those actions. It shaped the reality of the now-dying world.

“Sometimes ghosts are things we hold onto,” Valkyrie whispered softly, face lit by the licking flames of the boilers. “But, we don’t have to let them haunt us.”

Thor nodded, acknowledging her counsel but choosing not to expand on it. Mainly, out of lack of anything to say. It didn’t seem to bother Valkyrie, she just grabbed her gloves and pushed Thor’s into his chest, signaling the end of their break.

With an uncomfortable tension in the air, they silently resumed their work.

There was something in her tone that made Thor believe she was speaking from experience— like she was trying to offer advice to not only him, but herself. He hadn’t been able to pry a whole lot out of her, but Bucky had reluctantly told him she left Sakaar to follow Captain Laufeyson. But, then he’d simply told Thor that it wasn’t his story to tell and that had been the end of it.

It seemed everyone on the ship had a mysterious past that Thor wasn’t allowed to know— even Laufeyson. He knew he was among the last of the Jotnar brought to Asgard, that he probably spent his youth in the poorest districts, and that he hated the royal family— Thor included.

Thor, on the other hand, was an open book. Everyone knew who he was, his life and accomplishments had always been broadcasted and put on display for the public to marvel. The Crown Prince, the golden son, heir to the throne of Asgard, _Odinson_.

Somehow he doubted he had half the ghosts as the runaway Sakaarian, the ex-pirate, or the Jotun thief. But, the ghosts he did have were very real and very alive;  they took the form of Laufeyson’s claim—that King Odin’s mercy to the people was a power-hungry sham.

And, Thor, had blindly played into it.

——

Valkyrie shooed him off the next day when he stumbled to the boiler room to start his shift. Bucky had been there, shovel in hand, standing in front of the furnace Thor typically fed. Valkyrie rolled her eyes at his panic-stricken face, gave a small smile, and told him to take the day off.

He hadn’t had one yet— but, found he really didn’t know what to do now that he had it. Throwing himself into the hard labor was the only thing keeping him grounded and feeling useful. It was a welcome distraction, easier than confronting the confusion in his head.

Still, when he emerged on the deck and the first rays of sun warmed his skin, he was immensely grateful for the break.

It was always busier during the day— crewmates scuttled from one end to the other, some sat enjoying each other’s company, some ate lunch quietly beneath a clean, blue sky. It was a pleasant experience. As much as it pained him to admit, Thor commended Laufeyson for creating such an efficient community aboard the ship.

Thor watched mountains in the distance roll by with the leisurely pace of the Commodore. The beauty of the scenery erased his mind, and for the first time in days, he felt at peace.

Until something slammed into him with such force, he nearly toppled over the railing.

He righted himself and turned, slightly startled, to see a younger boy struggling with large wooden crates stacked so high he could barely see over them. He swayed, nearly knocking into Thor again, muttering a string of pained apologies. The top crate wobbled with the boy’s clumsy footing, but Thor reached out, catching it before it could tumble to the ground.

The boy peered sheepishly from behind his handful— he couldn’t have been more than sixteen, his face red with embarrassment. Thor found himself wondering how such a child came to serve Laufeyson.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Nonsense, let me help you,” Thor cut him off, and he could see the boy sag with relief. He offered him a big smile— which was returned, timidly. “Where to?”

He followed the young crewmate to the opposite end of the ship, close to the bridge, where they deposited the cargo among the other towering crates.

“Thank you,” the boy stammered, shifting nervously on his feet. He looked small and out of place among the intimidating black-clad crew. Then, he turned, scurrying off with red cheeks.

Thor stood, smiling to himself— until the familiar sensation of being watched returned. It was like a wave of cold air brushing its fingers along his skin, the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. Slowly, he turned, fully expecting to be met with nothing but air like the night before. For a moment, that is exactly what he saw, until his gaze traveled up to the bridge windows.

Laufeyson stood in rapt attention with his hands clasped behind his back—staring down directly at Thor with an unreadable expression. His knees almost buckled under the heavy weight of his gaze.

Not knowing what to do, Thor offered a small, helpless wave. Laufeyson didn’t wave back, but his straight-lined mouth did twitch at the corner—and he didn’t actively avoid eye-contact like he’d been doing ever since their last encounter. But, Laufeyson turned to leave and Thor tried not to feel disappointed.

If Thor was being honest with himself, he had been trying to run into the Captain again. The rare sincerity in Laufeyson’s claims had thrown him for a loop, disorienting him from the truth he’d been so sure he’d known. He had questions that needed answers— but he knew now to be tactful in his methods of retrieving them.

“Odinson.”

Laufeyson appeared in the doorway leading up to the bridge. His hands were still held behind his back and his posture was still ridged and regal—he was obviously making a great show of projecting his authority.

“I hadn’t seen you around, I was beginning to suspect there had been a mutiny.”

“Oh,” Laufeyson clucked his tongue and gave him a shark-like smile— full of teeth and bite. “If there is a mutiny, I fully expect you to be the one spearheading the endeavor.”

There was a hint of teasing in his voice and Thor was surprised to find he was relieved for it. It was better than the awkwardness of mentally reliving their last encounter: Laufeyson pinning him against the wall, breath close to his face, knife pressed to his neck, keening under the firm pressure of the Captain’s thumb.

Thor coughed to clear his throat, and Laufeyson tilted his head in evident amusement. He gathered his train of thought, setting it back to the original track.

“I would like you to catch me up to speed on the mission,” Thor rushed out. He decided not to comment on the implication he’d lead a mutiny— better to let the Captain wonder. “We’ve been flying for weeks, and I haven’t been updated once.”

Laufeyson blinked at him, a comical display of bewilderment.

“What makes you think you’re in a position to ask for that information?” Laufeyson asked, starting a slow vulture-like stalk around Thor, who swallowed a nervous lump in his throat.

“I’m the Prince—this mission is for my father, I deserve to know.”

The Captain tutted under this breath, stopping just short of Thor. “Entitled as ever, I see,” he commented, rather blandly.

“That’s not it,” Thor protested. He wasn’t going to anger him again—he wasn’t going to put _himself_ in that position. The vulnerability didn’t settle well. So, Thor tampered down the frustration at Laufeyson’s utter disrespect of his royal title.

He’d try a different approach.

“I want to trust you,” he told the Captain. “Show me I can trust you.”

——

The room Laufeyson took him to was the largest he had seen on the ship. They’d walked up the stairs leading to the bridge— the long stretch of windows that overlooked the main deck. But, a door within led to the navigation room— and it was impressive.

It was obvious the architect that designed the room took inspiration from Asgard, everything was gold with ornate filigree carved into it. However, the most striking feature was in the middle of the chamber: a large table with a massive dome jutting up from the center. It was painted black with intricate white mapping of the stars and constellations. Laufeyson stood over it, his hand pushing the surface, causing it to roll and adjust to his desired direction.

Thor approached the table cautiously, looking to the Captain for permission to touch, and a curt nod was given. He reached out, tracing his fingers along the smooth, cold surface—he pushed and the entire structure shifted beneath his touch.

“You can read this?” he asked, unashamed of the amazement in his voice. The grid dotted with tiny stars was tedious, he didn’t see how anyone could make heads or tails of it.

Laufeyson chuckled lightly, dipping his head down to hide his smile.

“Oh, heavens no. I employ a navigator.”

Thor deflated a little bit, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved knowing he wasn’t the only one in the room at a loss of how to decipher the star map.

“Your navigator, where is he?”

“ _She_ ,” Laufeyson corrected him. “Probably resting in her cabin. We are currently headed for a small town off the edge of Midgard, it’s a straight shot so it isn’t necessary that she be here.”

Thor nodded, embarrassed that he made an incorrect assumption. “She can look at this and determine where to go next?”

Laufeyson nodded, “It’s impressive. I know the basic mechanics, but nothing of Jane’s caliber.”

“Where do you find such formidable women?” Thor asked, though he more-so meant to in his head.

Laufeyson laughed. “Formidable women are everywhere, my Prince.”

“I’d love to meet her and ask her how all of this works.” He gestured vaguely at the star map.

“You know,” Loki started, rounding the table to stand by Thor’s side. “You would probably like Jane quite well, but she may be a little too smart for you.” There was a playful jest in his voice, so Thor ignored the jab at his intelligence. “She’s brilliant, I’m lucky to have found her on Midgard.”

“You act like you stole her,” Thor said, without thinking.

Loki’s face pinched up. “No one on this ship is here against their will. I gave Jane Foster a chance to pursue the life she wanted— a life she wouldn’t have had on Midgard.”

“I—that’s not what I meant.”

“Are you capable of saying what you mean?”

Thor laughed nervously, eager to cut the tension forming around them.

“It doesn’t seem so,” he said, giving a small smile as a peace offering. Laufeyson didn’t smile back, but he visibly became less taut. “I always put my foot in my mouth with you.”

Laufeyson did raise an amused brow at that.

“Perhaps you need a break.”

“I’m taking one right now, aren’t I?”

Laufeyson sighed, but there was a fondness beneath it. “We will be arriving in Midgard tomorrow to refuel. I would suggest taking the time to explore it— to see how those outside of Asgard live and thrive.”

The Captain studied him with a quiet determination. “It might do you some good,” he added.

Thor hummed an agreement, but there was a nervous strum beneath his skin. He’d never traveled outside of his home city, and being on the Commodore wasn’t the same as being in a new realm.

Laufeyson walked to a towering bookcase tucked in the corner of the navigation room, he trailed his fingers over the worn spines. “Foster has many books on Midgard’s history and customs. I am sure she wouldn’t mind if you flipped through some.”

It really wasn’t a bad idea— all he knew of Midgard was from his Aesir tutor. And, he was beginning to think his formal education had been skewed. After all, Laufeyson was unlike any Jotun he’d ever been told about.

——

They sat in comfortable silence for hours. Thor absorbed as much history as he could and was thankful to find most of it aligned with what he knew. There was, of course, more updated texts about economy and agriculture. It seemed Midgard broke itself into small factions, easier to sustain life and crops. Their magic users weren’t overworked like Asgard’s had been.

The sun began to dim behind the window, so Thor shut the tome in his lap with a loud _thump_ , a plume of dust puffing out from the pages. The noise caused Laufeyson to turn his head in his direction, and then out the window to the creeping darkness.

“A day wasted,” the Captain said quietly.

“Wasted? Should I be insulted?” Thor asked; teasing, but with an edge of real insecurity.

“Not this time,” Laufeyson replied as he stood, carefully replacing the book he’d been reading back on the shelf. Thor followed suit, stopping to scribble out a thank-you note to Jane for letting him unknowingly raid her library— Laufeyson peered over his shoulder to read it.

When they returned to the main deck, the sun had already faded out of existence and the moon hung low in her place.

“I come out here every night,” he told Laufeyson, though he didn’t know why.

“Oh? I never noticed.” Laufeyson’s tone was so calm, Thor couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm. With the Captain, it probably was.

Thor stopped at the railing, his normal spot. Laufeyson kept walking, unusually quiet. He suddenly remembered the chilling feeling the last time he was alone in the dark on the deck.

“Captain!” he called out, and Laufeyson stopped abruptly, turning just enough that Thor could see his wide green eyes in the moonlight. “Would you like to accompany me?” he asked, oddly formal.

The Captain watched him for a moment, then shrugged, like he was utterly indifferent. He moved to stand a careful distance away from Thor, under the immense canopy of stars.

There was still an uneasiness between them, a ribbon keeping them tethered, almost unwillingly so.

He found himself hopeful for something he couldn’t name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter, chapter 8, will introduce the first main conflict. i hope you're reaaaaaaaaady.  
> www.shineonloki.tumblr.com


	9. chapter O8

Waking up in his bed was no longer taxing. His joints didn’t protest as he sat up and stretched the last remnants of sleep from his bones.

Still, it was strange for him to think of the threadbare mattress as _his_.

“Morning,” a voice greeted him, and Thor responded with a yawn. 

Bucky walked through the door, toweling off his damp hair. Even fresh out of the shower, he didn’t look revitalized. Thankfully, though, he had already attached his metal arm— watching always made Thor squirm and his shoulder ache.

“Did you get your beauty rest?” Valkyrie trailed in, close behind Bucky. “You’ve nearly slept all morning— long night, was it?”

She looked at him, a knowing smirk twisted on her lips. He wasn’t sure what she _thought_ she knew though. There was nothing to know, nothing to hide. Thor had taken part in his nightly routine of spending a peaceful evening on the upper deck. It was just that typically he did this by himself, but last night he had company.

“No longer than any other night,” he told her, standing up to make his bed and hide his fluster.

Valkyrie and Bucky exchanged a look.

“Defensive,” she tutted and whistled low.

Thor felt his ears burn red. And, to change the subject, asked: “Do you happen to know when we will land in Midgard?”

Thor was grateful she didn’t press, but he did take note of the disapproving frown on her face. Even Bucky was looking at him strangely.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “We should be docking within the hour. Why?”

He shrugged. “Captain Laufeyson suggested I explore the city.”

“And get yourself killed?”

Thor blinked at them—they both wore an expression of disbelief. But, he wasn’t quite following. Midgard wasn’t like Sakaar or even Jotunheim, it was Asgard’s sister-realm and very docile. Both his childhood tutor and Jane Foster’s books had told him so. Plus, he had no intention of traveling anywhere seedy.

“I’ll be fine,” he told them. He wasn’t sure why they were looking like he’d sprouted a second head.

“People will recognize you,” Bucky said hesitantly. “That might not be a good thing.”

Thor frowned at him, and Valkyrie gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Not everyone is a fan of the Aesir royal family.”

“Especially not in Midgard,” Bucky added. He would know, Thor thought, he was Midgardian after all.

“What do you mean?” Thor asked, but somewhere in his gut and heart, he knew why.

The memory of Laufeyson’s words replayed in his mind: _In exchange for a percent of the harvests, he allows the magic users of other realms to stay at home with their families. He doesn’t take them to burn from the inside out in Asgard._

“Your father isn’t the most popular man in town,” Valkyrie said softly. “And, you are the Odinson.”

Thor swallowed the lump in his throat. It seemed there had been truth rooted in Laufeyson’s claims— he had spent days convincing himself otherwise. He could ask either of them if it was true, but didn’t think he could handle their confirmation, and didn’t think he could face the people of Midgard after that.

It was much easier to think Laufeyson a liar.

He’d grown up being told the people loved him— Aesir, Midgardian, Jotnar, all of them. His mother had held his hand as a child and walked him along the palace’s balconies overlooking the cluster of homes below. She had bent down to his level, golden and green robes flowing over her in liquid motions, ethereal and lovely, to cup his cheek. He could still remember her smile and her soft words; _“You will be king one day and it will be celebrated. Every realm will hear the bells.”_

But, that would not be the case— he knew now. A sick shame washed over him, pooled in his stomach and made his head spin. The truth of the matter was dizzying. He had trusted his father wholeheartedly, he’d been groomed for the throne and to follow his father’s footsteps blindly without question. He’d been made to believe his father’s rule was absolute and favored. He would have continued the hellacious decree without ever blinking an eye because he would not have known any better.

He would be just another tyrant on the throne. There would be no bells.

“Is he going to be sick?”

The room came back into focus and Thor blinked his bleary eyes as the world seemed to snap back into place.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

Valkyrie stared at him with an intense concentration, biting at her thumb. It really didn’t do much to help his nerves.

“You can go to Midgard,” she said, finally, and Bucky snapped his head over to her— like they didn’t _just_ decide that was a bad idea.

“But,” she continued, and a calculating smile curled on her lips. “You’ll need a disguise.”

Bucky snorted a laugh from beside her, which she ignored.

“A disguise?” Thor asked. “Like a masquerade?”

“I think the purpose is to draw attention away from you. Not sure a feathered mask in the market will do that,” Bucky supplied, helpfully.

“Your beard is already scruffier than normal, that’s a good start.”

Thor reached up subconsciously to stroke the wiry hairs on his cheeks as she said it. Typically, he kept it much cleaner shaven— tighter to his face, so the court could see his polite smiles better.

“That mop on your head though,” Valkyrie said, clucking her tongue. “It’ll give you away.”

Thor’s hand moved from his beard to his hair— long and golden. It was custom for the men of the royal Asgard family to keep their hair long: poised neatly at the nape of his neck or braided back in the heat of war. At the moment, he knew it was a sleepy, tangled mess.

“How do you feel about a haircut?” Bucky asked.

“Do it.”

——

The airship was always teeming with life, but it seemed even more so as they prepared to dock in Midgard, with more people rushing about on the deck than Thor had seen before. There was a significant change in the air though, he could already smell the foul aroma of smoke. It wasn’t as pungent as his home but burned his nose and lungs the same.

Over the railing, he could see a thin layer of smog surrounding the city as they began their descent. The crewmates up top were already strapping their gas masks to their heads and Thor considered asking for one, but the pollution was still something he was used to— and he was sad to say it brought an odd comfort.

“Prince Thor?”

Thor turned into the direction of the husky voice, muffled by the mask, and was met with a pair of goggled, alien-like eyes. His voice sounded vaguely familiar, and Thor thought perhaps it was the lackey that always followed Laufeyson around— Barton, he remembered Bucky calling him.

“Just Thor is fine,” he told him. Attempting to be incognito wouldn’t be easy with people still calling him _prince_.

Barton didn’t reply, just held out a stack of clothes that Thor recognized as the outfit provided to him on one of his first days on the ship.

Thor took the pile from him and stared down at it. Barton stood, unwavering and menacing—despite his height. Thor knew he’d have no qualms about killing him if he found him a threat to his Captain, and that made him dangerous.

“Captain Laufeyson would like you to meet him by the bridge in an hour,” Barton told him stiffly. It was evident that it wasn’t a request, but a command.

——

Right on schedule, the ship broke through the gray clouds and descended into Midgard. The giant mechanical oars of the ship hoisted and fanned out the smog around them in grayscale swirls. Thor found Loki waiting patiently at the bridge door, true to his word.

At first, the Captain looked right through him— unblinking and formal. Then, his eyes widened, and Thor watched him openly gawk, mouth opened ever-so-slightly.

“You’ve cut your hair,” he commented, instead of an actual greeting.

Thor reached up self-consciously to run his fingers through the now short strands. Valkyrie had left a little of the length on the top but sheered the sides close—carving simple lined designs behind his ears. It was Sakaarian fashion, she told him. It seemed silly to think a haircut and beard growth would be a good disguise, but when Thor had looked in the mirror he had hardly recognized himself.

“Yeah, do you like it?”

“I hardly think that matters,” Laufeyson replied, jutting his chin up a little— but, Thor didn’t miss the hidden tone of warmth in his voice.

“You wanted to see me?”

Laufeyson bristled into a forced, diplomatic stance. He averted his eyes, gaze landing on anything that wasn’t Thor. There was a pang in his chest, he’d been so sure they had been inching towards something resembling an alliance.

“Yes,” the Captain finally stifled out. “I have an errand to run on the outskirts of the town. Would you like to go with me?”

Thor stood, shifting from one foot to the other. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“It pertains to the mission, of course,” Laufeyson quickly added.

“Oh,” Thor breathed out. “Yes, of course.”

Laufeyson’s face broke out into a smile, but there was something strange beneath it. He looked wound tight, his complexion was a little sallow and his face more gaunt than usual. It was probably the air change, or maybe the heat— it was said Jotnar didn’t fare well in it. Thor didn’t mention it.

——

Midgard was considered Asgard’s sister-realm; they were very similar in fashion, dialect, and overall culture. However, Thor could easily understand why their economic situation was better— still not great, but _better_.

Their buildings were small, none higher than three stories. In Asgard, structures loomed over the streets like mountains, requiring much more power to sustain them— letting off much more steam. There also seemed to be a considerably lower population, and Thor couldn’t tell if they were purposefully dispersed and scattered or if the reason was due to more unfortunate circumstances.

Thor watched the buildings and people pass by from the window of their carriage. That was another thing, _the beasts of burden_. Asgard’s livestock was kept and bred solely for food and Thor hadn’t seen a horse in over a decade. But, he could see how using them would curb pollution.

He leaned back from the window, letting the red velvet curtain fall back into place, blocking out the daylight. Laufeyson sat beside him, scooted to the opposite end of the wide seat, with his eyes closed and head pressed against the window.

The Captain looked even more out of sorts in the shadows. There was a thin bead of sweat rolling down his temple, following the contour of his high cheekbones. Thor thought he may have been correct in assuming the temperature of Midgard was too sweltering for him. Which is why he couldn’t understand Laufeyson’s choice in attire— a dark green, velvet frock coat with a high cravat against his throat.

Laufeyson’s head lolled to the side and his brows knitted together in a pained expression. His slightly chapped lips parted, but nothing but a shallow rattled breath fell out.

“Captain?” Thor asked. “Are you okay?”

It was a stupid question, Thor knew. He moved across the seat when the Captain remained unresponsive. With a hesitant hand, he reached up to wipe away the beads of sweat pooling along Laufeyson’s hairline.

“Hey,” Thor moved to grasp his shoulders and shook him lightly. “Laufeyson, _hey_ , are you with me?”

His eyes fluttered open briefly, but they were glazed over. He shut them tight and let his head fall against the back of the seat, motions limp like a ragdoll.

Thor felt a panic spike in his chest—his heart was beating a quick, rhythmic pace. He didn’t have any medical training, he had absolutely no idea what to do. So, he acted on impulse and slapped lightly at Laufeyson’s cheek, who didn’t flinch.

“Hey!” Thor turned to the window separating the front and back cabin, leaning over to slap on the glass with his open palm. “Stop, stop the carriage!”

He quickly twisted back around and took a hard look at the Captain— his chest was heaving, so at least he was breathing. Thor moved to unbutton Laufeyson’s coat with trembling fingers, pushing the heavy fabric off his shoulders.

“Loki,” he said quietly, patiently. “Can you help me?”

Understandably, he didn’t respond, so Thor gently took him by the elbow and eased his arms out of the coat sleeves. Next went the cravat, and as the carriage lurched to a stop, Thor began unlacing the collar of his blouse.

Loki’s breathing was already coming closer to regulated when the driver opened up the door, panicked and confused.

“He needs air,” Thor told him, though he honestly had no idea if that were true. The overheating had just been a guess but judging by the way Loki was now holding himself up— although weakly— it was at least part of the problem.

With the aid of the driver, Loki was hoisted out of the carriage. Thor pushed him up against the side of it, holding him up by the shoulders, and watched as color returned to his face, and his eyelids fluttered in the first stages of lucidness.

Confident that he could hold himself up, Thor moved to cup his hands around Loki’s cheek, forcing his head upright. He watched as Loki slowly came back to reality: his eyes opened, scared for a moment and searching, then he stiffened under Thor’s touch, scooted his back along the carriage so that he was no longer sagging against it, and then brought shaking fingers up to wrap around Thor’s wrists in a weak hold.

“Odinson?” He asked, head tilted slightly in confusion. “Why are you touching me? Why are we outside?”

Thor couldn’t be bothered to be irritated at the apparent lack of appreciation—it was very _him_. So, instead, he gave a satisfied smile and pulled back, out of Loki’s loose grasp.

“Glad you made it back.”

Loki frowned, looking down at his unlaced shirt, untucked and sticking with sweat.

“Did you undress me?”

“You were burning up, I didn’t have a choice.” It had seemed like the correct thing to do in the moment— obviously, he had been right.

The Captain just hummed under his breath, a stern concentration on his face. Thor watched as he ran a hand through his dark hair, loose and curled with sweat around his temples. The driver was staring, puzzled, between them both— Thor gave him a wave of dismissal and a curt nod that he hoped translated to gratitude.

“Are you alright? Do you need another moment?”

Loki didn’t look at him, instead, he kept his eyes trained on the palm of his hand. A silence stretched between them.

“Loki?”

That got his attention, his head snapped up. There was a fear in his eyes that Thor had never seen before and suddenly, Thor knew the answer to his own query. No, Loki wasn’t alright.

“Let’s go,” Loki said, ignoring the question. He crawled into the carriage slowly, but Thor didn’t dare to help him. He knew that Laufeyson wouldn’t want to be made to feel helpless— especially after that episode.

Thor waited patiently for him to slide in before following.

“Is it the heat?”

Loki looked at him peculiarly before scoffing and turning to the window.

“Something like that, I suppose.”

Thor nodded sagely and knocked against the divider window with the backs of his knuckles. The carriage pulled forward and neither of them spoke about what transpired.

——

They pulled up to a small cottage on a hill roughly thirty minutes later. Loki remained relatively quiet throughout the ride, except to tell Thor that the man they were seeing was some sort of well-known Midgardian blacksmith.

“So, what does he have to do with the Tesseract?”

Loki sighed, lacing up his shirt and reaching for his coat before stopping and deciding against it.

“Something with that much magic will be dangerous to wield. I’m hoping he can help us out with that issue.”

“Right,” Thor said, so it would seem he was following along. Truthfully, he didn’t know a lot about magic or its properties. His mother had told him he didn’t have any in him— and at first, he’d been upset at being different from her. But, as he grew older, he was thankful for it.

Loki gave him an amused look, before squaring up his shoulder and knocking firmly on the door.

The kid that answered wasn’t what Thor was expecting—he was small and wiry, wide-eyed and youthful, with a smudge of soot on his cheek.

“Hello, Loki, sir!” He opened the door more widely, allowing enough space for both of them to slide through. Loki smiled at him politely, and the kid beamed.

“Where is—” Loki began, but was cut off by a loud hissing noise by the furnace.

A man in a welding helmet, very similar to the one Thor wore on the Commodore, lifted a smoking blade from a cauldron. He lifted his mask, squinting through the plumes of smoke.

“Laufeyson, I didn’t know if you were going to make it,” he said and shucked off his gloves and helmet. As he stepped closer, Thor assessed his features. He was older, but still handsome— he supposed— with a sharp goatee but gentle features.

Thor watched Loki’s polite smile stretch into a grin as the man rounded his table and grabbed ahold of the Captain’s hand to give it a welcoming shake. Afterward, the blacksmith raised it to his lips and pressed a flirtatious kiss to Loki’s knuckles.

It was then that his eyes cut to Thor, who looked down at the toes of his boots.

“Stark, this is Thor,” Loki said as he slipped his hand from Stark’s grasp. He didn’t look to Thor though, just kept watching the blacksmith’s face for a hint of recognition of the name.

Stark blinked, dumbly, slack-jawed.

But, it was the young man that spoke first.

“As in Prince Thor?”

“Of _Asgard_?” Stark asked for clarification, as if there were more than one Prince Thor. His look of amazement turned sour. “Why would you bring him here? That’s bold, even for you.”

Thor tried not to flinch at the harsh words.

“He’s much better company than his father,” Loki stated, nonchalantly—then he looked over to the boy with a bored expression. “Tell your apprentice to close his mouth, he’ll attract flies.”

“Peter,” Stark warned, and the apprentice— Peter— slammed it shut. He then turned back to Loki, apparently not done with his tirade. “That doesn’t answer my question of _why._ ”

Loki opened his mouth to speak, but Thor got there first.

“My father employed Captain Laufeyson to retrieve something, I’m just helping.”

Stark pulled a face. “What? Are you his bodyguard?”

“Of sorts,” Loki said calmly, feigning an interest in his nailbeds. “I asked him to come along,” he lied, then leveled Stark with a stare that dared him to challenge it further.

The blacksmith dropped it but didn’t stop eyeing Thor with distrust.

“So, what is it you came here for?” Stark finally said with a defeated sigh.

Loki sauntered over to a table littered with various pieces of armor and weapons. He picked up a scepter and tested its weight in the palm of his hand, giving it an approving nod.

“Something strong enough to wield the Tesseract.”

 “So, you’ve finally lost it,” laughed Stark, crossing his arms over his chest, strumming his fingers along his forearm.

Loki didn’t respond, just smiled to himself as he continued to examine the scepter— he traced his long fingers along a groove in the tip, square enough in shape.

“We don’t know if it’s really out there,” Thor told him, but Stark only rolled his eyes.

“Of course not, it’s not real.”

“Then you won’t mind if I take this,” Loki interjected.

Stark sighed once again, heavy and tired, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Fine, you can have it.”

“Payment?” Thor asked.

“On the house,” he said, and then smirked in Loki’s direction. “I owe Laufeyson.”

“Consider our debt paid,” Loki replied with a wicked grin.

Thor watched the exchange with raised eyebrows, but then Loki caught his eye and gestured for him to follow as he headed towards the door. Peter rushed to open it, nodding nervously as Loki swept past him to hover in the frame.

“Loki,” Stark called out once they had both passed the threshold. Loki glanced over his shoulder with a lack of interest. “Be careful.”

Thor knew he was referring to him— not the mission.

——

The carriage ride back into town was uneventful, all things considered. There wasn’t another attack, so Thor supposed that was okay.

Loki sat quietly with the scepter in his lap, tracing his fingers along the gold-cast shaft—Thor had to stop watching and turned his attention out the window where the sky was darkening with heavy clouds.

“I’ve booked us a room at the inn,” Loki said, breaking the silence.

Thor’s eyes widened, and the Captain laughed.

“Separate rooms,” he clarified.

“Right,” and then, “thank you.”

Another beat.

“There is a tavern attached,” Loki commented. “Brunnhilde will be there, she usually is. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you tagging along.”

Brunnhilde, Thor remembered, was Valkyrie’s real name— he hadn’t dared to call her that though. He gave a tight-lipped smile in Loki’s direction.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he told him. And, he would— he desperately needed a drink, a stout drink that would wash away the confusion and allow him a blissful night of fun.

“She’s very taken with you.”

Thor felt his ears burn. Valkyrie was beautiful, strong, and clever—but he didn’t quite think of her that way. Honestly, he couldn’t imagine she thought of him in the context of friends, much less anything else.

Loki sensed his embarrassment— that or noticed his red cheeks.

“Don’t worry, you aren’t exactly her type,” he said slowly, like he wanted to make sure Thor understood what he was really saying, between the lines.

“Oh? Because I’m a prince?” She’d been pretty clear on her hatred for Aesir politics.

Loki stifled a laugh into the back of his hand. “You could say that. Though, if you were a _princess—_ she may prefer your company.”

“Oh,” Thor said, stupidly. A moment of awkward silence passed between them. Then: “What about you? Which do you prefer?”

The Captain stared at him, blinking. “Are you asking my stance on royalty or my preference on who I take to bed?”

Thor shrugged, but shrunk further into the carriage door— as they bounced along his head smacked against the glass.

“I’m not picky when it comes to my pleasure,” Loki answered. He was leaning against the opposite door in his seat, angled towards Thor, studying him with an appraising look. Thor was almost certain he imagined the way Loki darted his tongue out to quickly lick over his bottom lip, and the way his legs seemed to fall open wider.

Suddenly, Thor was the one too hot in the carriage.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Stark had been a lover in the past— his mind replayed the way his eyes had lit up as he brought Loki’s hand to his lips. He could ask, but he wanted the conversation to be over.

“What about you, my Prince?”

“The same,” Thor said, and his voice was hoarse, so he swallowed. “I guess.”

Another bump in the road caused his head to jostle against the glass, and Thor wished it would knock him out.

——

The tavern was bustling with an energy Thor wasn’t used to. The thick, sour scent of mead permeated the air, which was filled with boisterous laughter and chatter—all warmed by low, amber lights. Every square inch of the decent-sized establishment was occupied by a drunk patron, falling over themselves or falling on each other.

A barmaid meandered past Thor, one hand on her hip and the other supporting a tray of frosty mugs. She glanced down at him and her big, fake smile dropped. For a second he’s afraid he’s been recognized, but she only smiled sadly, eyes drifting to the empty table he sat at. Then, she dropped a fresh mug and left.

Thor swallowed down the bitter taste— pity mead was still mead.

To be fair, he hadn’t arrived alone. He had taken Loki up on his advice and followed Valkyrie, who immediately ditched him the moment a pretty blonde took a slow sip from her tankard and winked in her direction.

He didn’t mind. The constant buzz of voices and mead made it impossible for Thor to think— and he didn’t want to think.

Looking around the tavern, crowded as it was, his eyes still caught sight of Loki. The Captain stood tall among a group of both men and women, all fawning over him as he flashed charming smiles and threw his head back in laughter every now and then. Thor had never seen him so _social_.

But, that was probably how Loki was normally— when he wasn’t forced to occupy the same space as someone he loathed. Example: _Thor_.

Thor turned his attention back to his pity mead, staring down at the amber liquid swirling in the glass like it swirled in his head, and behind his eyes.

He nearly jumped from his skin when he’s hauled up by the elbow by Loki. Immediately he was pushed towards a corner and flipped so that Loki was in front of him, dragging him by the suspenders until his back hit a solid surface and Thor was forced to brace himself against the wall, bracketing his hands on either side of Loki’s face.

His heart nearly beat out of his chest. Loki looked up at him, his eyes were rimmed with red from one too many drinks, and Thor could smell it on his breath. His breath—that was puffing out against Thor’s cheek as he leaned up to look over his shoulder.

Loki pulled back, hands still firmly gripping Thor’s suspenders. “There is a man at the bar,” he said, casually. “I owe him a lot of money.”

Thor scoffed— of course he did.

“I need to look busy,” he explained further.

“Right, you couldn’t have done that with any of the others?” Thor couldn’t deny the disdain in his voice if he wanted to.

“You looked lonely,” Loki said with a small shrug.

“I’m not,” he bit out harsher than he intended.

Loki fell back against the wall with a huff, but still blocked by Thor’s form.

“Well, unless your father gave you a small fortune before you left— I suggest you help me.”

Thor grunted his response and Loki had the nerve to look smug. Still, as the seconds crept by like hours, the close proximity to the Captain started to prick at his skin. He couldn’t ignore, no matter how noisy the tavern was, Loki’s soft breaths—or, the way his hands stayed anchoring him in place.

With a drunken snicker, Loki snapped one of the suspender straps against Thor’s chest.

“Loki—”

“When did I become Loki?”

Thor’s blood ran cold— he hadn’t even registered the switch. He was Captain Laufeyson: Jotun, silver-tongued, con-man. But he was also Loki: witty, clever, compassionate— in his own way. Thor blinked, the realization that they weren’t two separate entities, but one man. And, the second realization was that, _that was okay_.

“When you almost died,” Thor told him, truthfully.

Loki laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “I had almost forgotten.”

“You seem to be feeling better,” Thor commented, and Loki just hummed, idly fiddling with one of Thor’s suspender straps.

He looked beyond Thor’s shoulder again, eyes vacant.

“He’s gone,” Loki told him— then he was gone too.

——

 Thor drank heavily after that, knocking out mug after mug until the only thing he felt was a dizzying spiral, kaleidoscopes behind his eyes.

From across the room, two women watched him. One had tumbling dark hair, draping over her bare shoulder where her blouse had slipped—she locked eyes with him, smiling dark and seductive. Thor smiled back.

The other woman watched Thor too, but it was with a different interest. Her hair was cropped short enough that it looked as though she had none at all and Thor could see the unmistakable gleam of metal bolted in patchwork on the side of her head.

The two of them leaned in together, whispering, eyes never leaving Thor. Then, the woman with the dark hair, and big bustled skirt, was sauntering towards him. Before he could even introduce himself, she hiked up her skirt and dropped herself onto his lap, weaving her arms behind his head.

“I saw you and your friend watching me,” he told her, trying to sound cocky and confident— the exact opposite of what he was feeling.

“My sister,” she corrected him. He couldn’t really imagine the two being related— but held his tongue. If the way she rubbed her cheek against his beard said anything about where the encounter was leading, he shouldn’t be insulting her.

“What’s a man like you doing in a place like this?”

It was a generic line, and Thor concluded this must be her _job_. All the better, he needed to blow off steam— and he’d come dangerously close to considering another option.

“On a mission,” he indulged her, and she purred into his ear. “We are looking for the Tesseract.”

Thor gave a sloppy, drunk smirk when she pulled back. That had got her attention, and he felt satisfied that his attempts to impress her worked.

“Oh? That’s just a legend,” she said and raked her fingers up the back of his neck. He shivered.

Thor understood, at that moment, he’d lied to Loki. He had been lonely.

“We have a map,” he slurred, and something flashed on her face—Thor quickly realized it was terror, because there was a knife pressed to her throat.

He followed the blade to find Loki holding it, considerably less-inebriated than he had previously been.

“Off,” he commanded, and the woman lifted her arms as a white-flag and pulled herself carefully off Thor’s lap. The second command came out as a growl: “ _Go_.”

She turned briskly, bumping shoulders with Loki, and rejoined her sister across the tavern.

Thor was just about to protest, but Loki cut him a glare sharper than the blade in his hand; then he was being dragged from the chair and shoved out of the tavern into the cool night air. Loki stalked off in the direction of their inn rooms, and Thor knew he was supposed to follow.

Loki stopped in front of a room and shoved the large, brass key into the lock with an unnecessary force. The second the door opened, he shoved Thor through— who stumbled drunk into the darkness. The door slammed behind him, and he half expected to be left alone, but Loki stood glaring.

“You could have just jeopardized this entire mission,” he spat out. “Or is that what you want?”

Thor righted himself and ignored the churning in his stomach—a mixture of excessive mead, confusion, and fear.

A moment of resigned recognition flashed across Loki’s face. “That _is_ what you want, isn’t it?” He gave a mirthless snort. “You _want_ me to fail. You know your father will send me to the gallows if I return empty-handed.”

“Why would I want that?” Thor asked, his mind couldn’t process whatever twisted reality Loki was suddenly living in.

“Because,” Loki bit out between clenched teeth, an unmistakable waver in his voice. “You know what I am—a _monster_. You said so yourself.”

Thor blinked back the confusion, at a loss.

“I’ve never called you that.” He hadn’t— out loud, at least. “I don’t want you to fail, Loki. I want the Tesseract to be out there just as much as you do.”

_Also, I don’t want you to die._

But, he’s pretty sure he had established that.

Loki was still fuming, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. At least, Thor thought, the knife was put away. He didn’t have to worry about being stabbed in his drunken stupor.

“Don’t leave this room,” Loki said finally, turning and making his way to the door— presumably to leave Thor alone.

And, because Thor was feeling childish, but still didn’t appreciate being treated like one: “You aren’t my mother.”

The Captain’s hand stilled on the knob.

“You aren’t either,” Loki whispered, and left— slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so this turned out way longer than i had expected. i'm also setting this up for the second half of the story and i realize now i kinda' hyped up the conflict a little too much. but, i assume you can maybe see what's going to happen. feel free to speculate in the comments. :'D i love all of you, thank you for the feedback so far.


	10. chapter O9

There were a lot of things Thor needed to do when he woke.

 _First_ , find a way to rid himself of his head-splitting hangover.

 _Second_ , find Loki.

 _Third_ , apologize to Loki.

Eavesdropping hadn’t made the list at all. But, as he approached the door to Laufeyson’s room and heard the muffled voices of the Captain and Valkyrie— curiosity got the best of him.

He pressed himself up against the door and strained to listen. It wasn’t hard, but there was no way he’d be able to tell himself listening in was an accident. Still, it’d probably help to know if Loki planned to lock him away for the remainder of the trip— or worse.

At least he’d be able to get a head start.

“You didn’t get a good look at her?”

“No, I was a bit under the influence.”

He couldn’t see Valkyrie, but he knew her well enough to know she was rolling her eyes.

“I’ll ask around while we are still docked,” she said. “There probably isn’t anything to worry about.”

Thor squeezed his eyes shut. They were talking about the woman from the tavern— the one that had fallen on top of him and milked him for all the information he was worth. Which, thankfully, wasn’t much. Perhaps it had been tactful after all for Loki not to trust him with too many details.

“Maybe,” Loki responded, but the word was followed by a sharp hiss.

“You okay?”

Valkyrie rarely sounded concerned, so the worried tone of her question sparked an interest. Thor physically restrained himself from busting into the room. Loki probably didn’t want him rushing to his aid anyway, he’d been furious the night before.

And, Loki Laufeyson was a far cry from damsel in distress— regardless of how _distressed_ he sounded.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. I don’t know what you’re doing—"

“I’m not doing any more than usual.” The irritation in Loki’s voice was obvious.

“Right. You need to take care of yourself,” Valkyrie said with a huff.  “The Commodore needs her captain.”

Thor scrambled as the heavy sounds of their footsteps approached the door. He hurried to push away and assembled himself into— what he thought was— the essence of innocence.

“Oh, there you are!” Thor exclaimed, a little too readily when the door swung open.

Valkyrie judged him suspiciously, her eyes peeling back his charade with ease. She decided to spare him because she didn’t make a comment. Behind her, Loki stood— cold and impassive— and Thor had to agree with Valkyrie, he didn’t look good.

“Thor,” he greeted.

“Loki.”

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow and looked back and forth between them.

“You two have some things to talk about,” she said with an amusement that didn’t go amiss.

“Do we?” Loki asked.

Thor, at the same time: “We do.”

He tried to gather his bearings, attempting to give off a little false confidence. Loki watched him; his eyes focused, but tired.  Thor didn’t waver and kept the contact until Loki bent reluctantly— sighing and deflating.

“Fine,” he yielded. Though, he didn’t sound happy about it. “Brunnhilde, call a carriage? Thor, you come inside.”

——

The interior of Loki’s room nearly mirrored his own. There was a single bed pushed up against the wall, a bedside table, and a writing desk. It wasn’t exactly the lap of luxury, but still much more spacious than the ship.

Loki dropped down onto the mattress with a tiny bounce. It looked soft, and Thor immediately regretted being too drunk to take advantage of the comfort of an actual bed in an actual room.

Somehow, he didn’t think sitting beside the Captain would be appropriate, so he hovered awkwardly by the desk. He tried to lean against it, nearly knocking the oil lamp off in the process.

“Comfortable?”

“I’m sorry,” Thor blurted out. “I don’t want this to fail. You do know that right?”

 _Please_ , Thor thought, _tell me you know that_.

There was a puzzled expression on Loki’s face, and it melted into something softer. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally said: “Just be more careful.”

Thor’s heart sunk in his chest, but at least being dismissed was better than rage.

“I will,” Thor promised. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Loki scoffed.

“Clearly. Do you know what could happen if the wrong person found out what we were doing?” Thor opened his mouth to speak, but Loki cut him off, raising a hand meant to silence. “Much less, what would happen if they found out _we have a map_.”

The severity of his actions hit him hard, the weight nearly causing his knees to buckle from beneath him. The truth was, he hadn’t known what kind of consequences it would bring—it was an innocent mistake. Well, as innocent as trying to impress a courtesan could be.

“I’ll fix it,” Thor told him, in earnest. He didn’t know how, or what, or if it even needed it— but, if something went wrong he’d try his best.

Loki stared at him with something akin to disbelief. “You haven’t broken anything,” and then, with a sly smile: “Yet.”

The distinct sound of trotting approached, and Thor craned his neck to see the carriage pull up in front of the inn doors. Thor watched as Loki gathered his coat, bundling it up under his arm, and made his way to the door— fully intent on leaving him there, Thor suspected.

The Captain was half-way out of the room before he looked over his shoulder, face full of question.

“Are you coming?”

“What?”

Loki blinked.

“Are you coming with me, or not?”

——

The carriage ride was quiet and bumpy; there didn’t seem to be a need to apologize further.

They both jostled in their seats— a particularly rough pothole shifting them both towards the middle, and when Thor reached out to brace himself, his hand landed on top of Loki’s.

Both reacted like they’d touched hot coal. Thor scooted back to his side of the seat and Loki did the same. A low, electric static clouded the air.

His fingertips burned where they had brushed against Loki’s hand— soft skin, hard knuckles, cool to the touch. Thor curled his hand into a fist, holding onto the memory of a feeling.

Beside him, Loki stared out the window. His fingers drummed an impatient beat onto his thigh; the thin curl of his lips twitched into a small, private smile. It wasn’t meant for Thor, but his heart stumbled all the same.

And, he realized he would follow Loki anywhere.

——

He’d been expecting to return to the ship— not _this_.

“Where are we?”

Loki smiled, tipping the carriage driver with a small sack of coins before turning back to Thor.

“A Midgardian farm,” he told him. “I thought it might be useful to show you what exactly is on the line with this mission.”

A month ago, the comment would have angered him— set his skin ablaze— but now, he knew Loki was right. So, he told him as much.  

“Just wait here,” Loki ordered, and then took off towards the little cottage at the end of a cobblestone road. Thor hovered patiently by the carriage.

The farm was nothing like Asgard’s orchards—which had been large stretches of carefully organized rows of crop. Here, the patches of growth were much smaller and confined to little squares. All the green looked strange on a backdrop of desert, like a humble oasis.

Thor looked back to the house, small with a puffing, steady stream of smoke from its chimney. From the distance, he could still see the way Loki’s smile lit up as the door opened. A portly woman appeared, wiped her hands on her apron, and took the Captain’s hand with both of hers— shaking vigorously. Loki said something and they both looked over to Thor; he gave them a shy wave. The woman said something that made Loki duck his head, and then he turned making his way back.

Far away from the city, only tendrils of smog skirted along the skyline. It allowed the sun to beat down on them, but a gentle breeze kept the stroll to the garden cool. Thor caught himself, more than once, checking that Loki was alright. Each time he snuck a peek, he looked fine— nothing close to the previous day.

The third time Thor looked over, he found Loki already watching him. He snapped his head forward and didn’t let his gaze wander again.

Loki stopped them in front of a cluster of trees, each bearing low-hanging fruit— shiny, red apples. He reached upwards, gingerly plucking one, and offered it to Thor.

“Lunch,” he explained. Thor took it, wordlessly and graciously.

Together they sat beneath the shade of the apple tree, only the rustling of leaves humming in the air.

“How much magic does it take to sustain a place like this?”

Loki looked down at his apple, then over at the house, thoughtfully.

“Quite a bit, I would imagine. The lady of the house is a magic-user, and their youngest daughter is one as well. So, splitting the duties in small workloads makes it easier.”

Thor was ashamed of how little he knew about magic-users. His mother had been one, of course, but it was a piece of her life she kept tucked away for the most part— always indulging her practice in the greenhouse, alone, and away from Thor and his father.

“It looks as though they are well off,” Thor commented, nodding his head towards the nearby crops bountiful with life.

A grimace passed over the Captain’s face. “No, a large portion of this harvest will be collected by Asgard’s troops. They will be left with very little, in the end.”

Thor’s stomach turned, coiled tight into humiliation. He sat the apple down in his lap; the large portions of glistening, white flesh exposed by teeth marks mocked him.

“I shouldn’t be eating this.”

Loki watched him, chewing and swallowing slowly. “Nonsense, it was a gift.” He reached over and grabbed the fruit from Thor’s lap and presented it at eye-level, perched on his palm.

Thor huffed in protest but snatched the apple up all the same. Loki gave him a wide, satisfied smile.

“Can I ask you something?”

Loki nodded, taking a bite— but there was an underlying nervousness about the way his eyes cut back to him.

“What do you remember of Jotunheim?”

They were sitting close enough that Thor could feel him stiffen. A silence befell them, and he was sure that he could hear Loki’s heartbeat quicken and thump against his chest.

“Not a lot, I’m afraid,” he finally said. “It was much cooler though.”

“I would imagine— they say its freezing.”

“Well, it _was_ covered in ice.” And, then Loki heaved in a deep breath and continued— “There was a cave, just outside my village— it was my own secret hideout. Inside, there was a hot-spring and everything.” He smiled down at his hands, but it was sad and broken, devoid of actual happiness. “When your father’s army marched into Jotunheim, I hid there.”

Something cracked in Thor’s chest— the pain blossomed and sunk into his bones. Loki was looking forward, eyes focused on nothing and threatening to water around the edges. Thor knew he would never let the tears shed, and he wondered if he ever had— or if the Captain had spent all these years keeping them bottled.

“I’m sorry,” Thor whispered, because what else could he do?

“Don’t be.”

Thor knew what he was really trying to say: Don’t feel sorry _for me_.

Loki took a harsh bite of his apple, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. It was obvious he was searching for a way out of the conversation.

“You know, they say there are golden apples that can give you immortality,” he told Thor, finally.

He looked down at the apple core in his hand and tried to imagine something so absurd being true.

“Perhaps that can be our next adventure?” He laughed but stopped when Loki didn’t. Nervous, he looked over and found he was being watched with an odd sort of awe.

Loki smiled, kind and slow.

“Perhaps.”

Beyond the garden, a small figure stared them down— a child observing them with an unbridled curiosity as she cranked up a pail from the well. Thor realized she must be the daughter, the one Loki had told him about. She looked so young— too young for the burden put on her shoulders.

“What my father is doing— _what he has done_ — is wrong. I know forgiveness and redemption is a long road away…But, when we find the Tesseract, Asgard will not be the only one to receive its power.”

There was a tender touch on his shoulder, Loki gave him a light, reassuring pat— his hand lingering briefly. Thor wanted nothing more than to lean into it, but it vanished as quick as it came.

“I will not be my father,” Thor told him. A promise.

“No,” Loki sighed. “You couldn’t be. You’re already a better man.”

The words warmed him, but Thor couldn’t help the way his heart doubted them. Loki turned to fully face him, the grass smudging green into his khaki breeches. They were closer that way, close enough that Thor could lean in and take his face in his hands. But, he didn’t—he remained still and quiet while Loki’s gaze flickered from Thor’s eyes to his lips. He was waging some sort of battle in his head, it was obvious.

“When we get back to the ship, I need to show you something,” Loki whispered, slowly and cautiously.

——

On three separate occasions, Thor had asked about Loki’s quarters on the Commodore. Each time he was met with a guarded glare from Valkyrie— and once Bucky— and an unhelpful: “ _They are off limits_.”

The unnecessary mystery of it all had Thor’s anxiety spiking to extreme levels as he stood behind the Captain— who stalled and hovered over the doorknob with a trembling hand.

“Promise,” Loki rasped out, “that you will not get angry.”

Which, Thor thought, was just as ominous as everything else. And, honestly not a promise he could make.

“Whatever you’re going to do, Loki, do it,” Thor said, only feeling the weight of his words once they left his mouth.

Loki squared up his shoulders, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

Thor was just about to ask what the big deal was—but then, his eyes caught sight of something green, and something green, and something green.

There were plants, living and thriving: hanging in glass-blown orbs from the ceiling, tucked neatly onto bookshelves, sitting pretty on the window sill facing the outwards of the ship. It was hard to focus on anything else in the room.

“How—” Thor began to say.

Loki turned to him, eyes pleading and guilty. Then it clicked, and everything snapped into place.

“You’re magic,” he said, shoving past the Captain and approaching one of the hanging terrariums. He reached up, fingers gently caressing the tendrils of leaves that fell down in sweeping motions. They were real—not faded, fake fabric like some of the ones lining the halls of the palace.

“Yes,” Loki confirmed, though he didn’t have to.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Loki had the nerve to look taken-back, disbelieving, like Thor was the one being irrational.

“I didn’t trust you,” he answered like it was obvious. “What would have you done if I had of told you this that first night on the deck?”

Thor snapped his mouth shut, lacking a proper retort.

“To be a magic-user unregistered with Asgard is treason,” Loki continued. “You would have turned me in and ended this mission before it ever started.”

He remained silent, still. The truth was, Loki was right— and Thor was finding that he often was.

He stared at the man before him; polished and regal even when stripped down to plain tunic and breeches; dark curls combed back from his striking face; an enchanting glint in his green eyes, green like the foliage framing him.

Of course, Loki Laufeyson was magic— how could he have not seen it before? He was bewitching.

“Say something,” Loki said, voice cracking. “Please.”

“Thank you, for telling me.”

He let out a shaky sigh, and Thor couldn’t tell if it was relief or something else entirely. There was an oddly submissive nature in the way he stood, picking at his hands with an unashamed nervousness. It was worlds away from the Captain he had grown to know— strong and stoic. He looked almost childlike, with unwarranted fear.

He also looked familiar— in a way that Thor had picked up on before but dismissed.

Things clicked into place once again, a resounding echo in his mind like the churning of an old grandfather clock.

“You’re the boy from the orchards.”

Loki sucked in a quick breath and took a step back, while Thor took a step forward. He bit at his bottom lip, staring up at him with apologetic eyes. “No,” he told Thor. “Not quite.”

That answer didn’t make much sense. But, then again, none of it really did. Still, Thor remembered the strange, pale boy sitting in the snow. The magic-user that laughed at his expense but healed his leg without prompt or question. The young Jotun that Thor had called a monster.

Another step forward almost brought them chest to chest, but Thor didn’t dare close the distance.

“It was you.”

“Yes.”

“But—”

“Let me show you,” Loki whispered. He raised his hand cautiously to hover beside Thor’s cheek. He gave the Captain a small, approving nod— though he wasn’t sure what exactly he was allowing by doing so. Loki closed his eyes tight, bit the bullet, and pressed his palm against the side of Thor’s face.

In an instant, everything blurred and faded into black.

——

_Thor opened his eyes, blinking slowly. He was standing in his mother’s greenhouse, but not how he had left it. It was once again brimming with flora, bright and lush and beautiful. His body moved on its own like he was looking through the eyes of someone else. A hand—his hand—reached out and caressed the petal of a purple orchid; he was shocked to find his fingers small, light—shrunk with adolescence._

_Suddenly, his mother swept into view. She looked exactly how he remembered, and if Thor’s body had been his own, he would have wept at the sight of her. Ever elegant, Queen Frigga knelt down and took Thor’s hands into hers, smiling brightly even in the hazy memory._

_“You have magic in you, I can feel it. Can you?”_

_The familiar, comforting golden aura of her magic drifted from her hands, engulfing him._

_“Reach in, deep within. Find it.”_

_Thor’s eyes shut on their own accord and in his head, he screamed for them to open._

_“Concentrate.”_

_He did concentrate, he concentrated on breaking free from the spell and throwing his arms around his mother— hugging her close and tight. But this wasn’t his body, and it would not yield to his desires._

_When his eyes finally opened again, there was green magic flowing from him. His mother smiled, and his heart broke in two._

_“Now, Loki, dear—You mustn’t tell anyone about this. Do you understand?”_

——

Thor twisted from Loki’s touch with giant, heaving breaths. Loki watched him, eyes sad and almost apologetic.

“My mother?”

“She kept me safe from burning out in the orchards.”

Thor remained silent, raking his hand through the short strands of his hair, pacing back and forth. He couldn’t put his finger on the emotion welled inside him—but whatever it was, it tore him from the inside out.

“Thor.”

He stopped, abruptly, turning to Loki. He knew his face must have conveyed the panic, heartbreak, and confusion on his face— because Laufeyson flinched back. The problem was, Thor couldn’t tell what he was feeling for Loki at that moment. He was angry, for Loki keeping the magic and memories of his mother from him. He was sad, that Loki had been brought to _his_ home to be used up like a dish towel. He—

Thor swallowed hard.

“Can you show me more? Of my mother?”

The fear in Loki’s eyes softened and he offered a weak smile. He took a few steps back, knocking his legs against the edge of the bed built into a nook in the wall. He sat down, leaving enough room for Thor.

“Of course, my Prince.”

Loki held one hand out, beckoning him.

And, Thor— he followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooo, i edited this with little to no sleep...so i apologize! the next chapter will be another shorter one from loki's perspective. as always, feedback is ALWAYS loved and appreciated. thank you. <3


	11. chapter 1O

“Teach me.”

Loki sighed into the pages of his book, closing it with a soft thud. Standing in the doorway, Thor nervously shifted his weight— eyes eager and hopeful. It was becoming harder and harder for him to deny the Prince anything. He wasn’t a fan of the implications of that.

“I can’t—” Loki let out a frustrated groan and threw his book to the side; it had been a good book, one about the magical prowess of Jotunheim’s ancestors. “Magic isn’t something that can be taught, you either have it or you don’t, I’m afraid.”

Thor’s optimism didn’t falter. 

“Maybe I do—”

“If Queen Frigga didn’t sense it in you, you don’t have it,” Loki snapped without truly meaning to. Thor knew that—Loki had shown him the memory of the Queen explaining to him that the young prince didn’t inherit her abilities. He had made sure to tamper down the feeling of pride and superiority that conversation had given him when Thor watched through his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he added sympathetically after one look at Thor’s crestfallen face. It was alarming that such a burly man could look so adorably pathetic.

Thor was stubborn in nature, Loki had discovered, and it seemed he wasn’t going to let the subject go gracefully. He stomped across the room and snatched the chair settled at his desk, dragging it loudly along the floorboards until it sat in the middle of the room; Thor flopped down.

“Give it your best shot,” Thor told him.

Loki gave in—for the simple fact that staring at Thor sitting in the middle of his room with his legs slightly spread made him _antsy_. His fingers itched to move, to touch, to caress. He shook his head, dispelling the inappropriate notions.

“Fine.”

“Fine,” Thor parroted.

At least, Loki thought, this would be less strenuous on him physically. He’d slept for three days— and poorly at that— after their little mental trip down memory lane. Still, experiencing the raw happiness on Thor’s face when seeing his mother was enough for him to decide it was worth it.

He stood in front of Thor, who spread his legs even wider to accommodate Loki—but he didn’t dare step between them. Instead, he hovered, finger pressed to his chin, thinking. He’d never actually attempted to draw magic out of someone before. So, he decided the best course of action would be to mirror what Queen Frigga had done for him.

“Close your eyes,” Loki instructed, and Thor obeyed. “Now, concentrate and search inside.”

Thor made a face and Loki couldn’t tell if it was because he felt something or was thoroughly confused at his unhelpfully vague instructions.

“Anything?”

Thor cracked one eye open, smiling uncertainly. “Where am I supposed to be looking?”

Loki let out a long, dramatic, exasperated sigh— rolling his eyes and moving to stand behind Thor. He wasn’t sure what to say; finding his magic had come easily and naturally to him. Then again, Loki _had_ magic— Thor didn’t. If he had to guess, that was the difference. But, he also knew the Prince wouldn’t accept that as a suitable answer.

“Close your eyes again,” the Captain demanded— smacking the side of Thor’s head lightly. He laughed, tilting his head back, eyes closed tight; Loki stared down, free to do so now. There was a small burn mark near his hairline, one he hadn’t seen before, probably from his work in the boilers.

Loki caught his mind wandering and cleared his throat.

“Okay,” he said, just to say something. “Let us try one more time.”

Eyes still closed, Thor nodded.

“Try to feel it in here,” Loki breathed out, kneeling down behind the chair. He hesitated before wrapping his arms around him, pressing one hand into the space above Thor’s heart. “And here,” he added, pressing the other onto the surprising softness of his stomach— he felt Thor’s skin twitch beneath his hand.

From his position, Loki had no choice but to rest his head on Thor’s shoulder, hyper-aware of his quickening breaths. Beneath his palm was a rapid heartbeat, Loki bit at his bottom lip to stifle whatever noise threatened to come out.

“Can you feel anything?” Loki whispered into the crook of Thor’s neck. He tried to push back the double meaning he knew was there. As if on impulse, his head nudged closer to the warmth of Thor’s throat—his nose brushing against the soft skin, his mouth practically watering for a taste.

Then he felt it, an electric spark beneath his fingers—hot and static. Loki pulled his hand away from Thor’s stomach slowly; the Prince didn’t seem perturbed at all. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed whatever transpired between them.  Loki studied his fingertips, a residual burn lingering on them— but, other than that, nothing was out of place.

“Loki?” Thor turned his head, their faces so close together Loki could count eyelashes if he really wanted. He took the opportunity to sit back and pushed himself back to his feet—separating himself from the Prince as quickly as possible. 

“Nothing, I’m afraid.”

Thor’s face fell, and it was like a knife twisted inside his gut. Loki couldn’t be sure of what he felt, he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t natural static, he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his own magic flaring up as a reaction to—

Well, it was better not to give false hope.

“You don’t need magic to be useful,” Loki told him. Because he knew what this was really about; he could read it all over Thor’s face. He stood, looking pensively at the toe of his boot— just a further confirmation of Loki’s suspicions. 

“I don’t feel like it. You’re the one that holds the world together. I’m the one that tears it apart.”

Loki fought the urge to correct him, to tell him that he was mistaken, or to comfort him. He didn’t, for his own sanity.

Instead, he walked to his desk—taking the spare moment to compose himself.  Strewn across the table was the map King Odin had given to him, what now felt like ages ago. It was old, torn at the edges, dirty from the passing of many hands, from being hidden for decades. It showed the world much like it still was, all the realms and villages scattered along the coast-line. Closer to the water, more safe— the more likely you would survive. Further inland, just west of Midgard, was a crude illustration of a cube surrounded by scrolling leaves. It was such a primitive map, Loki would have thought it a hoax had he not been able to feel the magic rolling off it.

“Come here.” He called Thor over with a lazy wave of his hand. As he approached, Loki made sure to keep his distance.

“This is the map.”

“I would have never guessed,” Thor teased, and Loki gave him a sharp jab with his elbow.

The Prince bent forward, planting both hands on the desk, eyes studying the faded lines of coordinates. “It’s pretty far inland,” Thor commented.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Yes,” Loki answered, unable to temper his manic glee.

Thor glanced up at him, a nervous expression set in his features. Loki had to remember that Thor had never left Asgard, his experience in the unknown was limited—almost non-existent. The Captain, however, thrived on the unknown, lived for adventure.

“It’s a suicide mission,” Thor said quietly.

A hot pain— one that had been consistently getting worse for weeks— flared up in Loki’s chest. Without thought, he raised his hand and pressed against it, but it did nothing to ease the burn.

“Not going at all will be a suicide mission,” Loki told him, and Thor nodded in understanding. But, he didn’t fully understand; he couldn’t.

They stood there, staring at each other. The pain in Loki’s chest twisted into something else, something more pleasant. Thor’s eyes dropped, and Loki could feel that electric gaze on his lips. It’d be so easy to lean in and take what his body, his mind, and his heart wanted.

There was a ticking clock inside him, and if he was destined to run out of time—

“Captain,” Brunnhilde called from the doorway, breaking the moment in two and causing them to spring apart.

Loki cleared his throat once again, adjusting the cravat nestled snug around his hot neck. Thor turned his attention to the papers on the table, cheeks flushed red in the warm glow of the room.

“I need to speak with you,” she said, and if she noticed the awkward tension in the air— she didn’t mention it.

“Can it wait?” Thor asked. Even still, he refused to let his eyes leave the map on the table.

Brunnhilde cut him an intense glare, her mouth was set into a straight line— but there was something else etched into her normally indifferent features. The tiniest bit of fear. And, at that moment, Loki felt it too.

“I’ll meet you outside.”

As he exited, Thor trailed behind him. Loki held out a hand, stopping him in his tracks. There was a guilt gnawing at him, telling him to let Thor be a part of whatever Brunnhilde was about to bring to the table. But, if her uncharacteristic distress told him anything— Thor would be safer in the dark.

“Wait here.”

Thor grumbled something under his breath, clearly unhappy, but crossed his arms and took a step back. Loki let out a sigh of relief and followed Brunnhilde out the door, casting a small spell to keep it shut and locked. He was almost surprised to learn he felt guilt at that too.

——

“We have a problem,” Brunnhilde started. Barton was waiting on the deck for them, arms crossed and staring hard— like he wasn’t thrilled about whatever Brunnhilde had briefed him on.

“I gathered as much,” Loki responded dryly. “Just one moment.”

There was a pinch of discomfort and he ignored it, lifting a hand, calling forth an illusion charm. A shimmering green aura skirted across the deck, traveling up each of their legs until it vanished at the crown of their heads.

“If Thor happens to eavesdrop, he will only hear us talking about mundane ship happenings.”

“Right,” Brunnhilde said, not at all fazed by the explanation. “I’ve learned the identities of the two women in the tavern.”

Loki’s stomach dropped like a stone. He didn’t have to place a large wager to know that the outcome wasn’t good. His fists clenched at his sides, blunt fingernails digging into his palms.

“Who?”

Brunnhilde looked out to the night sky, dark clouds drifting by. A calm before the inevitable storm.

“They go by Gamora and Nebula—”

“Children of Thanos,” Barton finished for her.

He’d been afraid of that— when he saw her draped over Thor’s lap, while the other woman watched with a murderous intent. They had looked familiar, vaguely, from wanted posters plastered throughout all of the realms. They were bad, but Thanos was worse.

“How much time do we have?” Loki asked, trying to remain stoic despite his knees threatening to buckle.

“Not much, the word is they are already seeking us out.” Barton sounded tired, defeated.

“I’ll cast a cloaking charm. Perhaps—” Loki said frantically, panic setting in. He dropped to his knees, Brunnhilde’s protest only a ringing in his ears. He’d done it once before when they escaped Sakaar. He had cloaked the entire ship in an invisibility charm and evaded capture entirely.

Loki closed his eyes and planted both hands on the deck, trying to summon as much magic as his body would allow. Brunnhilde reached out, grasping at his shoulders, but he forcibly shrugged her off.

He had to do this— he _had_ to. If Thanos couldn’t track them, they could reach the Tesseract in time.

Another scorching pain blossomed from somewhere in his chest, and he couldn’t help the choked-out gasp that escaped him. The green aura of his magic dimmed, it spread out from his fingers but ebbed away—not strong enough to even repair a splinter in the wood.

“Captain, stop. This is madness.”

Loki sat hunched over, staring at his hands, chest heaving with ragged breaths. His fingertips were red and raw and bordering useless.

“Do they know who he is?”

Brunnhilde and Barton exchanged a look, but it was Barton who spoke.

“Who?”

“Do they know who Thor really is?”

Brunnhilde’s face contorted in confusion. “No, I don’t believe so.”

“Good, they can’t know. They will kill him on the spot.”

Loki pushed himself up, stumbling but refusing the arm Barton offered for leverage.

“They will kill all of us.” There was agitation in her voice, anger, he could practically taste it. “It was four weeks ago that you called him disposable. Now you care?”

The Captain didn’t take offense, he knew that she cared too.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Right now,” Barton said cautiously, “Captain, everything matters.”

The three of them stood in a circle, a silence settling over them. The strenuous push of the machines propelling them forward buzzed through the air, a melancholy melody.

“Thanos won’t stop until he has the map or the Tesseract. He will come for us, and we will need to be ready.”

They both nodded— and they both knew they would never be ready; Loki knew as much too.

“The less Thor knows the better. He will want to fight, but you must keep him safe. It’s imperative.” Brunnhilde opened her mouth as if to argue. “That’s an order,” the Captain growled, and her lips snapped shut.

Loki flicked his wrist and the illusion vanished, he could hear the faint click of the lock giving way on his door.

“See Thor back to his cabin. I need to meet with Foster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry, don't kill me.


	12. chapter 11

Sleep hadn’t come easy for Thor.

Valkyrie had escorted him back to their quarters. She was always quieter, preferring the company of her own head most days, but there was a tension in the air. He didn’t know what, but something had changed.

An ominous cloud hung over the ship; it was suffocating, it choked him.

Loki had not returned to him in the cabin. Loki— who was opening up, who was sharing bits of his past, who had looked at Thor like he wanted to kiss him. And Thor, he had wanted it too.

He tried not to think about what could have happened as he lay in the dark quiet of his bunk. If Loki had kissed him, would it have been gentle or rough? If he closed his eyes hard enough and retreated to the more imaginative parts of his mind, he could feel Loki’s lips on his. He had already felt the brush of them along his neck, as he helped work him through the task of finding a magic that wasn’t there. His hands pressing so close.  His stomach flipped thinking about it, so he pushed the thoughts away— buried them deep.

No, sleep did not come easy, but as always, it arrived and took Thor to the place in his subconscious where Loki was his.

——

The entire room shifted with a deafening explosion. It launched Thor from his tangle of sheets, disoriented. Valkyrie was already suiting up when the second attack came, lurching forward as she laced up her boot.

“What’s happening?”

Bucky hung in the doorway watching people flood the hallways, all clad in black. The smell of gunpowder hung thick and cloying in the air. 

“An attack,” Valkyrie told him. Her voice was calm and steady— and it gave her away.

“You knew this was going to happen.”

Valkyrie gave him a sympathetic look, but feverish anger took hold of him anyway. She had gone to the Captain to warn him and Loki hadn’t trusted him enough to let him know. While every other member of the ship readied for an attack, he was sprawled across the floor in his nightclothes.

“Come on, its time,” Bucky said, not bothering to look back into the room— his normally tired eyes alert and focused on the fight beyond the walls.

Thor clambered up, unwrapping the twisted sheet from his legs and kicking it off with haste. He’d go to battle in his pajamas if he had to— it may even confuse whoever enough to get a few good swings in. In the corner sat his war hammer but, as he reached for her, Valkyrie blocked his path.

“Move,” he growled, attempting to side-step her. She was too quick, she had him knocked back before he could blink.

“I’m sorry, my Prince,” she said. To her credit, she really did sound sorry.

Still, Thor couldn’t comprehend what her apology was for— until the door slammed shut with a loud click leaving him alone.    

It took a moment for the cogs in his head to start turning once again, rusty with confusion.

“Wait,” he croaked out. “Wait!”

He slammed his fists against the door like a spoiled child, kicking hard at the bottom— so much that it rattled on the frame but didn’t budge. He violently shook at the handle on the off chance that it would magically open. It didn’t make much sense, the only lock on the door was from the inside, there was no logical way it could be locked.

Unless—

“Loki,” Thor mumbled under his breath. He gave the door another swift kick and he was met with solid resistance. There may not have been a lot he knew about magic, but he knew the door had been tampered with.

Above deck, he could hear the scuffling of a battle: shouting, grunts, the clanging of metals, the errant shot of a canon. His body longed to be up there, fighting alongside them. It was what he had spent his youth training for. Thor knew that real battle was different than scrimmages with his companions. Even now he could taste a difference; the air held the metallic taste of bloodshed.

Loki, he knew, would see himself in the heart of it all.

Then, there was an image of Loki lying broken and leaking in a puddle of his own blood— a sword strung through his stomach, his hands clutching at the wound until the life dimmed from his eyes. That image stoked an impossible flame within Thor.

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. There was an electric tingling beneath his skin, adrenaline. He threw on his black uniform, the one he once detested but now wore with pride. His hammer sat waiting in the corner, calling to him with a song only he could hear.

There was an indescribable power flowing through him as he held her weight in his hand.  One swift and powerful swing and it cracked Loki’s magic like a sheet of ice.

——

Above was chaos.

It was strange to think that just hours prior everything had been so calm. It was hard to imagine standing against the railing with Loki, enjoying the night without carnage now scattering the deck. The bodies were a mix of the dead, from both sides, and wounded.

He couldn’t help it—his eyes scanned the crowd for any sign Loki.

First, he saw Valkyrie ram her sword through the heart of a man twice her size. He fell to the ground with her blade still plunged in his chest. She pressed the heel of her boot onto his corpse for leverage, grabbed the hilt and pulled it clean. It was only after she spun around to cut down another enemy that she noticed Thor. Her eyes went wide, and he half expected her to tell him to leave.

“Behind you!”

Thor ducked, if a bit ungracefully. A heavy blade swung above his head, slamming and embedding itself in the wood behind him. The blade’s owner growled and lunged toward him, but an arrow whizzed dangerously close to Thor’s head and pierced the man between the eyes.

From his perch on the bridge, Barton gave him a thumbs up— the first string of comradery he’d ever felt with the man.

The initial swing of his hammer had him brimming with a rush of excitement. It was as if the weapon was an extension of himself— and she was thirsty for blood. He became so caught up in the berserker rage that his true mission was almost forgotten. Almost.

A glimpse of green caught his eye.

Loki stood a few from him, engrossed in his own scuffle with a burly man with orc-like features brandishing a battle axe. In size and sheer brawn, Loki was outmatched. But, Thor knew him to be clever, agile, and strong in all the ways that counted most. He looked beautiful, covered in sweat and smeared with blood— powerful and transcendent.

The axe came down in a brutal, final swing, straight through Loki’s chest.

Thor stopped, his heart stopped, the world stopped.

The only thing he could hear was the pumping of his own blood through his veins. His grip tightened on his hammer, ready to kill. Immediately ready for revenge.

The moment he raised his weapon above his head, Loki’s body vanished in a wisp of green magic. The big brute looked just as confused as Thor felt as the Captain’s form dissipated into nothing around the blade of the axe.

Thor grinned impossibly wide. Everything in his world resumed, an immeasurable fondness welling inside him, replacing the rage, replacing the hate, replacing the revenge. When they won, and _they would win_ , he would kiss that devious, sly, trickster.

He hurled the hammer forward and it slammed straight into the thick skull of the fool who had attacked Loki. Instant satisfaction.

If that was just an illusion, that meant the real Loki would be close by. He stepped over a moaning body, kicking it for good measure when it reached out to grapple at his ankle. As he bent down to retrieve his hammer from the twitching form it sat on, something caught the corner of his eye.

Huddled behind a barrel, knees drawn close to his chest, and head lolled to the side, was Loki. He looked worse than when the axe had struck him— or his illusion, rather. His appearance was reminiscent of their carriage ride, he looked too hot, burning from the inside. The panic and fear of what that implied kept Thor frozen to the spot.

Slowly, Loki tilted his head up, heavy eyes blinking open, then widening as they locked onto Thor. There was a dullness in them, like a light had gone out— he’d seen that look before. Suddenly, he was a little boy, clinging to his mother’s hand that lay limply at her side.

“Loki,” he breathed out, taking a step forward. He no longer cared about the chaos surrounding them.

Loki shook his head weakly, pleading for him not to take another step. “Please,” he silently mouthed. As much as it pained Thor, he stopped. His head told him to heed Loki’s request, his heart told him something else.

Around them, everything stilled. A deadly hush spreading over the deck, like they were trapped the eye of the storm.

At the far side of the ship, on the enemy vessel’s bridge to the Commodore, a large, looming figure appeared. Thor fancied himself a big man, over six foot and years of bulking muscle— but even he was dwarfed by the ominous figure standing above the crowd. Every eye— crew and enemy— focused on the new arrival. 

Out of the foggy shadows, Thor could make out his face; scarred and ugly and terrifying. A purple streak of warpaint was smeared down his left side. He’d seen this man in wanted posters. He’d heard his father’s council worrying over him. Asgard told stories of his brutality and horror.

Thanos.

Behind him appeared two familiar women. Thor may have been drunk, but he would recognize them anywhere— though they looked much different now, dressed in breeches with too many buckles and tight, sleeveless tunics. Like Thanos, each had a stripe of warpaint down their face. The woman that propositioned him in the tavern had a smattering of green, while the woman who watched had a streak of blue.

A sinking filling twisted in his gut— this was his doing. He fought the urge to turn to Loki and apologize, though it would never be enough, but feared giving him away. So, he stayed facing towards Thanos, hand never leaving his hammer.

Thanos surveyed the ship, a twisted smirk on his face, like he was proud of the carnage he caused.

“This can all be over soon,” he called out. “I’m only here for one.”

A beat, a dead silence.

“Captain Laufeyson.”

A few of the standing crewmates looked at each other. Thor refused to look anywhere but Thanos, terrified he would give Loki’s position.

No one in the crowd budged, each held their head high— an unbreakable fortress of wayward souls.

Thanos sighed, “I really didn’t want to have to do this.” It sounded as though he really _did_ want to do it, sounded like he’d been planning it for a while.

“Gamora,” he said with a snap of his fingers.

Gamora, the woman with the green warpaint, moved quickly. Before anyone could stop her, she had Valkyrie twisted in her arms, holding her steady with a dagger pressed against her throat. Valkyrie did not move, not even an inch— she didn’t even look panicked. A warrior, ready to die for her Captain.

“Again, bring me Laufeyson— or, she dies.”

From across the deck, Gamora made eye contact with Thor. It was disconcerting, but her gaze held something strange, like she was trying to tell him something. It was then that he noticed she had the blunt edge of the blade against Valkyrie’s neck.

Either Gamora was inexperienced with a blade, she was sloppy, or something else was going on. Somehow, Thor didn’t think the first two fit the menacing warrior.

“If you do,” Thanos continued, “I will spare the rest of you.”

“Is that a promise?”

Thor’s heart stopped beating and dropped into the pit of his stomach.

Loki walked slowly to the center of the deck to a melody of murmurs and gasps. Another cruel smile twisted on Thanos’ lips.

“Of course, I am a just and merciful God.”

Thor thought he heard Loki let out a repulsed chuckle. He couldn’t be sure— the ringing in his ears was deafening.

Loki looked over at Thor and gave him a smile, sad and small. _I’m sorry_ , it seemed to say. He turned back to Thanos and nodded.

“I’ll go with you.”

Thanos jerked his head, a silent instruction to his lackeys. Gamora released her hold on Valkyrie and shoved her away, sending her stumbling forward. There was a terror in her eyes, a fear that hadn’t even been present when there was a blade at her throat.

Then, there was a hand holding him back, firm and hard like steel. He tried to jerk from the grasp, but Bucky’s mechanical fingers curled over his shoulder blade like a vice.

“Don’t,” he whispered into Thor’s ear. “It will be worse.”

The woman with the blue face and bald head took a step forward, the patchwork of metal gleaming in the rising sun. She looked like she had experienced whatever _worse_ things Bucky warned of.

“Cuff him, Nebula. Bring him to me.” Thanos turned, walking away in victory. “Leave the dead where they lie.”

The second the thick, iron cuffs latched onto Loki’s wrists, all sound logic left Thor’s brain in a flurry. Damn Bucky’s cautionary advice— he wouldn’t let Thanos get close enough to hurt him.

“No!” His voice was hoarse, damaged from his battle cries— teetering on the edge of hysterical. “Stop, please.”

All of Thor’s preconceived plans of heroically stopping them died in his throat the second Loki turned to meet his eyes. He shook his head slowly— half-dead already.

Thanos stopped in his tracks, rotating slowly.  

“Who is this?” Curious and malicious.

Thor opened his mouth, but Loki got there first.

“Just a lowly crewmate who has forgotten his place.”

The words stung, no matter their true intention.

He knew, deep down, that Loki didn’t mean them. An almost kiss, the feeling of Loki’s hand anchoring him in place in the cabin— those moments had been real. He chose to believe that. It didn’t make it hurt any less. Because, on the inside, it was how Thor always felt in Loki’s presence.

Thanos didn’t say anything, just stared long and hard at Thor. The fear that he would be recognized was sickening.

“Come,” Thanos commanded. Gamora walked leisurely by his side, casting a long glance over her shoulder at Thor, who wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy watching Loki’s retreating back as Nebula jerked the chains and sent him along.

——

Thor was left with the wreckage of the aftermath.

He didn’t know where to even begin to pick up the pieces. So, he stood with a heaving chest along the railing, knuckles white where they gripped tightly. Thanos’ ship was almost a twinkle in the horizon.

He didn’t register Valkyrie at his side until she spoke.

“Don’t worry about the deck. This isn’t the first attack the Commodore has faced, it won’t be her last. We will take care of it.”

Thor snorted an unamused laugh. It was selfish but scrubbing the blood from the deck was further down on his list of priorities than he cared to admit.

“You let them take him.”

Valkyrie physically pulled back. “Pardon?”

He knew it wasn’t her fault, he knew it wasn’t his. Loki sacrificed himself for his ship and, by extension, his family. Hurt and grief was a heavy burden on his heart, and it made him say terrible things. Valkyrie hadn’t done anything to stop them, but neither had Thor. Perhaps, the words were aimed more toward himself.

“Why didn’t you try harder to stop them?” Thor knew, now, that he _was_ talking to himself.

“It’s not my place to refuse a Captain’s order.”

So, he had been correct. She had known this was coming.

“What do we do?” she asked.

“We follow them. We get him back.”

Valkyrie was watching him, her face heavy with sadness.

“Is that an order?” she asked again.

“Yes.”

Her expression lightened, and a close-lipped smile stretched across her face. “Aye, Captain,” Valkyrie called, loudly enough for it to echo along the deck.

Thor blinked at her as she saluted him. Then, hesitantly, he twisted around to find the remaining members of the crew facing him— all standing at attention, all in salute.

“Aye, Captain,” they said in unison. It was too loud for his heart.

——

Going back to Loki’s cabin was tougher than he imagined it would be, and he had imagined it tough. Though, he supposed it was his cabin now— for the time being. It would be Loki’s again soon enough, he promised himself that.

Still, he wasn’t ready. He would never be ready.

The room looked cold and lonely, in the way a room felt haunted after its resident passed on. The chair Thor had sat in was still sitting empty in the middle of the room— abandoned, left suspended in a happier memory. It made his heart ache.

On the desk lay the remnants of the map, charred pieces of scroll all that was left. Loki had burned it. Thor swiped his hand through the ash, rubbing it between his fingers— it felt electric, a static sensation. He wiped the ash on his pants and moved on to brush his fingertips lightly against the plants potted along Loki’s window.

How much of his magic had he used to keep these things alive?

It was the same as his mother, always keeping up with her garden, never allowing someone else to take on the burden. She’d taught Loki, he thought, as he prodded at a budding flower. His mother had shown Loki how to do this.

Now she was gone and so was he. A dark, horrible corner of his heart wasn’t sure he would ever get him back.

He picked up the pot, turning it over in his hand. Such an insignificant thing to waste a life for.

For a split second, he sadness turned to anger. He hurled the plant across the room and it shattered against the wall, sending shards of pottery flying, the dirt and bud splattering across the floor.

The anger was replaced by an overwhelming anguish quickly. He stared down at the green sprout, sad and innocent in its broken home. That had been Loki’s— Loki had nursed the silly little thing to life. And, Thor had gone and destroyed it.

He fell to his knees, scooping up the dirt with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

He tried to position the spout upright, but it tilted downwards, it’s tiny bud making it top-heavy. “I’m sorry.”

The dirt around in dampened and Thor realized it was with the tears he didn’t know he was shedding. He sniffed them back and tried again.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, again and again. He gave up on trying to salvage the life he had destroyed, burying his face into his dirty hands, trying to block the tears pouring out. Though, he couldn’t deny it felt good to cry.

He stood, his body heavier than normal and fell into Loki’s bed, gathering up the blankets and pressing his head into the pillows. The lingering scent of him was still present, and Thor drank it in, tried to picture Loki there with him— a Loki that was happy, and healthy, full of snark and sharp quips.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Loki, who wasn’t there to hear it.

——

Across the room, in the dirt pile on the floor, the drooping sprout perked up. The bud peeled back in blossom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hurt me! i feel like i need to ensure you that this will have a happy ending. please leave feedback if you'd like! but please don't throw things at me. i am sensitive.


	13. chapter 12

In the distance, a storm brewed. The clouds were darkened, rolling and rumbling— reminding him of the smog back in Asgard, but natural, organic. Less poisonous, but still terrifying.

“Are you sure you don’t need me?”

Valkyrie huffed a laugh. She looked weary, like she hadn’t slept. They had lost over thirty people, all evidence swept into the night like it had never happened. The entire event gone, erased— but not from his mind.

Probably never from his mind.

“We functioned just fine without you before,” a pause after Thor’s face dropped, “there are plenty to pick up the slack, Captain.”

The title was heavy on his shoulders; it threatened to drag him down. He didn’t like the way crewmates passed him, nodding and whispering the word under their breath. Thor wasn’t Captain, didn’t want to be. He was Thor, Prince of Asgard— but he found he didn’t want to be that either.

Still, taking claim of the command gave him a greater chance of ensuring Loki returned to him. After that, the rank would be given back to its rightful owner.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he told her honestly. She hadn’t asked, of course, but Thor needed an ear.

“He trusted you.”

She was watching him when Thor turned towards her— a careful eye gauging his reaction. He was cautious not to give one.

“So, what? This was all part of his plan?” He couldn’t help but be angry. Angry at himself, angry at his father, angry at Thanos, angry at Loki. Loki, who could have plugged Thor into even a minimal part of his apparent scheme. Instead, he was left to carry on, blind and confused, picking apart the pieces of a mission gone haywire— all with an aching heart.

He’d known it from day one, the quest was doomed for failure. So, perhaps, in the end, he could only blame himself.

Valkyrie shrugged, ever formal.

“You were born to be King. I think you can handle being Captain.”

Thor couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m sure Loki thinks I’ll be a good King,” he said, amused and sarcastic.

A warm hand came to rest on his arm.

“I think he’s counting on it.”

Thor swallowed hard, head swimming with too many thoughts to catch one and pin it down. It was all too much— and certainly too much to try and decipher the implications embedded in Valkyrie’s statement.

A flash of lightning streaked across the sky followed closely by the low drum of thunder.

“What comes next?”

Valkyrie turned her head to the bridge, a solemn sight.

“You need to speak with Foster.”

——

The navigation room was much how he remembered. It hadn’t been long ago that he was there— no matter that it felt like ages had passed. Only this time, it was occupied by a small woman, leaned over the globed table, shifting it about. Engrossed in her work, she hadn’t even noticed Thor enter.

He cleared his throat and her head snapped up, startled.

“Excuse me, I’m—”

Jane, he believed that was her name, rushed around the table to greet him. “I know who you are! Prince Thor of Asgard,” she said with an awed gasp, a hand snatching up his to shake it vigorously.

Thor blinked back the surprise but felt a warm smile creep onto his face. It was genuine, as he could tell Jane was. “I was under the impression those from Midgard weren’t fond of Aesir royalty.”

Foster pulled her hand back, seemingly aware that she had been shaking it far too long and wiped it on her skirt. Thor noticed that she didn’t dress like the rest of the crewmates: a brown bustled skirt, cream blouse with a ruffle at the collar, neat brown curls pinned at the nape of her neck. The role of navigator was obviously a high and honorable rank.

“Oh, they aren’t,” she said with an air of enthusiasm that made it impossible to take it as an insult. “However, I _am_ fascinated by the inner workings of Asgard. I hear that there is a false sun above the city—   that the pollution is too thick for the light to penetrate.”

Thor laughed. People outside of Asgard had a way with building his realm up into something it wasn’t. It was flattering, in a sense.

“I’m afraid not,” Thor told her, a flash of disappointment on her delicate features. “But, it _is_ much darker and gloomier than the books make it out to be.”

“Perhaps, if there _was_ a false sun,” she replied, tapping her chin lightly. Thor could already see cogs turning in her head. He was surprised she didn’t break out the blueprints right there.

“Another time,” Thor promised her— and meant it. “For now, when can we expect to catch back up with Thanos? We need to be prepared.”

For the first time, Jane’s face twisted into something other than a bright smile. She looked up at him, confused, and a ball of worry formed in Thor’s chest.

“I’m not following Thanos,” she said slowly, almost a question. “Captain Laufeyson—”

“Captain Laufeyson is gone.” A sharp pain in his heart, a pain that was reflected in the way Jane flinched back. “I’m sorry,” he said in an attempt to be gentler. “But, we have to follow Thanos’ ship. We get Loki, then we finish the mission.”

Jane looked at him with an incredulous glare. Thor didn’t budge, and she sighed— giving up.

“Let’s pretend for a moment that I _did_ have the capability of tracking Thanos’ ship,” Jane said stubbornly. “Which, by the way, is probably _who-knows-where_ right now. We are days out from the supposed location of the Tesseract—we won’t have enough supplies to chase a ghost ship and then return inland.”

He hated that she was right. Still, he had tunnel-vision and a relentless desire to bring Loki back.  Two parts of him were at war, threatening to tear him straight in two. It seemed logic didn’t come easily to him with Loki involved. In the end, he couldn’t be selfish— he _couldn’t_ be his father. There was a right and wrong decision and it was a decision he needed to make.

“Remain on course for the Tesseract.”

Jane smiled kindly and Thor tried desperately to return it. She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light pat.

“It’s the right decision.”

He felt queasy, he wanted to be selfish.

“I can’t help but feel like I’m turning my back on him,” he whispered. It was a quiet admission, unwarranted, but Jane didn’t seem to mind. Somehow, he knew she wouldn’t think him weaker for it.

Jane pulled back, propping herself against the navigation table and crossing her arms. She appraised him, gaze roaming him up and down, and let out an amused little laugh, mouth hanging slack in momentary disbelief.

“What?”

“I have known Captain Laufeyson a long time, he always saw straight through people. He saw through me— he could tell I wasn’t happy with my life back home,” Jane said quietly, the amusement was gone. She looked sad, but wistful. “I was engaged to be married. It was arranged. Laufeyson was doing dealings with my father, and he happened across a pocket-sized star map I had made. A week later he came to me with a position aboard the Commodore. I left and never looked back.”

Thor watched her carefully. She looked far-off, rendezvousing in her own memory. When she returned to the present, she cocked her head to the side.

“I wonder why he couldn’t see your affection.”

Thor opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air. His tongue failed him. There was a flutter in his chest that for once wasn’t sadness.

——

If he were to be completely honest, he’d lived a relatively emotionless life; in a sense that he hadn’t known struggle, he had never wanted for anything. His adventures were always procured within the palace walls, staged with no real thrill. He had known sadness with the passing of his mother, but for the most part, it was happiness and ease. Thor was now paying the toll.

He’d felt a mixture of new things aboard the Commodore: guilt, humility, shame, adventure, true excitement, wonder. Though, the feeling now— the one welling in his chest, different from the rest— was entirely new.

Alone, he lay in the enclosure of blankets and pillows on Loki’s bed. There were so many things he needed to do. So many, in fact, that he had no idea where to start. He’d retreated back to the Captain’s cabin, telling himself he was exhausted, ignoring the fact that he was clinging to the residual presence lingering in it.

Someone had swept away the evidence of his outburst. He stared at the clean spot on the floor— that night had been a blur to him. He’d felt consumed by an overwhelming grief, a feeling that still sat low in his belly.

Thor squeezed his eyes shut tight, eager and desperate to feel something else— anything else.

Slowly, he slid his hand down from where it rested on his chest, fingers trailing lightly over his stomach. There was a spark of _want_ and it was nice— it felt good. He wanted, more than anything, to feel _good_.

His hand dipped lower, teasing at the band of his pants before dropping down and kneading at the soft flesh of his inner thigh, close to where his cock was beginning to thicken. He didn’t touch, not yet. He wanted— needed— to drag it out.

A tiny, brief escape.

Suddenly, Loki was over him, legs straddling his hips, hands planted on either side of Thor’s face. His hair hung down, but he could still make-out the piercing green staring down at him. He looked healthy, alive— like before. Thor didn’t dare open his eyes, fear of losing the illusion forever.

“That’s it,” the Loki in his mind told him. He watched Thor’s pressing fingers inch closer to the swell in his pants. “Get yourself hard for me.”

Thor breathed out through his nose, gritting his teeth. He brought his hand to his cock straining hard against the fabric, seeking relief by palming it roughly.

“Eager,” Loki chided. He leaned back, rubbing his hands up and down the flanks of his thighs— a weightless phantom perched on Thor’s legs. “Pull yourself out, show me how much you want it.”

He paused just long enough to unlace his breeches, wasting no time taking himself in hand. He gave a few careful twists to the tip, rolling back the foreskin to reveal a fat, beading head. With a quick squeeze, he urged another drop from the slit—using the minimal slick to give himself a few languid strokes.

If he concreted hard enough, he could imagine—

Loki took hold of him, squeezing him at the base, a soft moan escaping Thor’s lips. He tried to picture Loki naked, but his mind was too far gone with the pleasure being coaxed out with each stroke of his hand. So, instead, Thor kept the image of him from the first day they met— Captain Laufeyson in his regal attire, panting and jerking him with quick movements.

“I want to hear my name on your lips,” Loki growled. “Say it.”

“Loki,” he hissed out to an empty room. “Loki—”

Once he started, the name fell out like a chant, a prayer. And, when Loki bent over to whisper along the shell of his ear, commanding him to come— he did.

Loki smiled down at him before slowly vanishing from behind Thor’s eyes— ebbing away like a fever-dream.

As the post-orgasmic haze faded, the heartache returned.

He wiped his hand along the blanket and tucked himself back into his pants, mentally apologizing to Loki once again. He’d see that is was washed before his return. An unsettling shame rose in the back of his mouth like bile.

People had died.

Loki was perishing from a magical malady.

He was responsible for the well-being of the ship and he chose to spend his time pleasuring himself to the image of a man who’d been taken hostage by a notoriously brutal pirate— the same man who was actively dying.

He didn’t have to be told what was happening. But, he knew. He’d seen it before, in his mother. It all made sense; like the last missing puzzle piece clicked into place when Thor saw Loki, fearless Loki, huddled weak behind a barrel. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fight—it was that he couldn’t. Even still, he’d burned away his magic to cast illusions and trickeries and—

And, he’d wasted hours sending Thor back to watch upon recollections of his mother. He had let him, over and over and over— unknowingly letting Loki drain himself and for what? For Thor to greedily take memories that weren’t his?

His chest felt too tight.  A clap of thunder cracked beyond the cabin walls. There was a storm beneath his skin, and it made a desperate attempt to get out. A swarm in his head, a buzzing in his ear— Thor frantically looked around for anything to anchor him down.

Eyes focusing on a hanging terrarium, overflowing with green tendrils of leaves, he tried to calm himself. He breathed slowly, counting the number of blooms.

 _One, two, three, four_ …

Thor squinted, shuffling up— confusion outweighed his residing panic. Maybe he hadn’t noticed them before, but there seemed to be more. The hanging vine was covered in tiny purple clusters.

Strange.

He dropped back down on the pillow, exhausted and spent, letting his eyes flutter closed. There was always solitude in sleep.

——

A crash outside the cabin door jolted him awake. Sweat beaded at his temple— a brief fear that Thanos had returned.

He sat up, staring at the door, waiting.

Nothing came, but something was off. He’d been having more and more gut reactions to the temperament of situations, and for the most part, he’d brushed them off. That strategy seemed to nearly always pan out to his disadvantage.

Outside was quiet, calm, and still. Only the wind howled through the beams and rattled the sails, only the moon hung large in the sky. He listened, immediately regretting not picking up his hammer before leaving the room.

As he decided that his gut reaction wasn’t correct after all, something landed behind him, dropping down from the Captain’s quarters little roof. He spun, hand curled into a fist— ready to strike— but the shadowy figure was too quick, too nimble.

The form, definitely female, ducked under his punch, slamming a hard throw into his gut causing him to double over out of reflex. In his vulnerable state, she hiked a knee up, knocking it into his chin. He stumbled backward, dazed and, if he admitted, in pain.

The woman sauntered forward, a pretty little dagger pointed straight towards him.

“I’m not here to fight you,” she said rather calmly. She stood between him and the cabin door—he’d have to go through her to get to the hammer.

In the moonlight he could see streaks of green on dark skin; Gamora.

“Not very convincing when you have a dagger pointed at me.”

Gamora’s painted lips twisted into a challenging smirk. “Don’t make me use it.”

Most people would be a fool to brandish a small blade on someone as large and bulking as Thor—he could probably knock it from her hands in a matter of seconds. But, Gamora looked like the kind of person who intimately knew how to use that dagger. There was an unwavering confidence in the way she held it out— threatening to gut him if he so much as moved wrong.

He could play her little game.

“What do you want?”

“An alliance,” she answered, without missing a beat.

Thor snorted back a laugh, folding his arms across his chest. “You do remember that you _seduced_ me for information and took it back to your leader—who, in turn, slaughtered my people and took Lo— Captain Laufeyson?”

“All it takes is a woman on your lap? That’s the winning seduction technique for the Prince of Asgard.”

Thor’s body went rigid. “What?”

“I know who you are, and by now so does Thanos.”

He swallowed hard, his brain firing off a million signals at once. What did that mean for Loki? What did that mean for _him_?

“My father must never get the Tesseract, do you understand?” He assumed she was referring to Thanos— who couldn’t possibly be her biological father. He briefly remembered her calling Nebula, with her pale skin and hard eyes, sister.

Strangely enough, he did understand.

“Why did you tell him we had the map?” Thor questioned.

There was a sadness on her face, it didn’t suit her.

“He had heard rumors of Laufeyson meeting with the King of Asgard. It’s no secret that your Captain hates the Royal Aesir.” Thor flinched at the words but let her continue. “He knew it was going to be something big—if it made Laufeyson agree to help the King.”

She dropped the hand holding the dagger to her side, a defeated gesture. “I had my suspicions, and I knew I couldn’t let Thanos have it if I was right.”

“That still doesn’t explain what happened.”

Gamora sighed; she looked so different under the moonlight on the deck, softer. In the tavern she had been warm, inviting, and alluring. During the attack, she had been menacing, terrifying, and ruthless. Here, she looked tired, worn down with opened scars from years of fighting against the grain of family.

“My sister craves our father’s approval. She was on board when our mission was hypothetical. The second you breathed the word Tesseract, she was out the door.”

Thor nodded in understanding. He was still struggling with dealing with the consequences of his father’s selfish actions. He was still attempting to right the wrong— if the universe would let him.

“I know you want Captain Laufeyson back. Let me help you,” Gamora said quietly—with an intensity and sincerity not easily faked. “I know Thanos. I know his weakness.”

He didn’t fully trust her—how could he? But, she was right. If he truly hoped to defeat Thanos, get the Tesseract, and bring home Loki, he was going to have to make an ill-advised pact with the _enemy_ — until she proved herself otherwise. 

“Fine,” Thor said stubbornly. A perfectly elegant and kingly response. “But, Valkyrie will keep a watchful eye on you. She won’t hesitate to toss you over the side of the ship. You did hold a knife to her throat, so she may do it anyway.”

Gamora smiled, not at all threatened; she looked more intrigued than anything.

“I only have one condition.”

Thor cocked a brow. She wasn’t in the position to ask for favors but, asking for one and receiving one were two different things. “That would be?”

“When the time comes, no harm comes to my sister.” There was an unmistakable waver to her voice, a crack in the careful armor.

“Your sister that betrayed me? That betrayed _you_?”

Gamora shrugged. “Sisters are just like that sometimes.” Then, sternly: “Promise me.”

Thor promised, against his better judgment. It wasn’t ideal— none of it was ideal. There were little choices to be made in such a situation. He held out his hand in compromise, to solidify the vow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just really like gamora/nebula acting as a mirror for mcu thor/loki. idk, i was kinda' iffy about this chapter. feedback is appreciated!


	14. chapter 13

A maddening _dripping_ brought him out a murky sleep. He woke in stages of disorientation.

Confusion— where was he? The room was dark, save a blue overcast given off by large tanks lining the walls. He was in the water reservoir, that at least explained the dripping. His arms were raised above his head, he gave tug against the restraints, the shackles biting into his wrists.

Ah, of course. He was aboard Thanos’ ship. He refused to utter the word _captured_ — because he had gone willingly.

Loki hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but this was a little excessive. He had given all the information they wanted—minus Thor’s identity— so he at least anticipated the free use of his limbs.

It wasn’t as if he had the strength to magic his way out of a holding cell. The last grains were falling in his hourglass, so to speak. The pain was constant, a low burn radiating from his chest, it reached his fingers and toes; his head suspended in a continuous, dull ache.

Thanos would bring him to the Tesseract. He just hoped that Thor would meet them there— he was counting on it.

If he could just hold out a little longer…

“You’re awake.”

Nebula stood leaning on a massive water tank, face pinched in its constant state of anger. He hadn’t noticed her there, but he was careful not to flinch and give that away. Loki preferred her to think he was undisturbed by her presence— like he had simply been ignoring her. 

“Yes,” he replied dully. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

She tinkered with a gear in her mechanical arm; prepared to act as a watchdog, but not prepared to engage in small talk. It was obvious to Loki she lived with a chip on her shoulder— he only needed to blow.

“Is that what daddy taught you?” She winced but didn’t look up. Loki’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Is that why you’re more machine than flesh?”

Nebula reached him in three, long strides. There was a painful tug on his hair as her motorized finger’s twisted it up, forcing him to look her in the eye. Up close, he could see he was right. Her left eye wasn’t real, the metal plates embedded in her skin took up more space than he remembered.

Gamora hadn’t looked half as taken apart as her. In all fairness, he couldn’t blame her bitterness.

“Shut up,” she snarled, giving his head a hard shove back. “I would kill you now if I could.”

Interesting.

“Why can’t you? There is nothing stopping you. I am weak, I am shackled.”

 _Take the bait_.

“He wants you alive.”

 _Good girl_.

“Why?”

“Shut up,” Nebula growled again. There was a murderous glare in her eyes, an inability to control her rage. He only needed to push a little more to work it out of her.

“I see,” he retorted, whistling— a dramatic show of understanding. “Those wires in your head—you’re programmed to do exactly what he wants. You have no free-will—”

A hard, metal fist collided with his face. A trickle of blood slid down from his nose, curling onto his chapped lips. The pain was nothing, he’d felt worse. Loki gave a dark laugh and licked the blood as it pooled at the corner of his mouth— a harsh, metallic taste.

Nebula crouched to his level. “Do you want to know why we are keeping you alive?”

Loki feigned indifference.

“Thanos knows the Prince will follow us to the Tesseract.” She must have seen the flash of worry on his face because she smiled.

“Yes, Thor will be there when we land,” Nebula hissed out, gripping Loki’s chin hard and forcing him to watch her lips as she said: “And, you will be the one to kill him.”

She let go and stood; Loki spat at her, blood and saliva.

“Then we will dispose of you too.”

His heart contracted, and he thrashed in the cuffs—his body begging him to break free and rip her limb from mechanical limb. He wanted to make sure no one could put her back together.

Nebula left, laughter echoing against the reservoirs.

——

Her information haunted him, and he could do nothing more than sit there. It was more torturous than having his fingers hacked off.

Her confession alluded to Thanos having the ability to manipulate his mind, he suspected. He was much too weak to fight against a controlling magic. There was no doubt he planned to have Loki’s hands bring about Thor’s death will he watched— unwilling to stop his own actions.

He’d underestimated Thanos’ cruelty, a silly mistake on his part.

Thor needed to be warned.

He knew the Prince would have no qualms about powering through queues of Thanos’ minions with his mighty hammer— Thanos knew that too.

They also both knew Thor’s weakness would be Loki’s presence on the inevitable battlefield.

Closing his eyes tight, he called for his magic, weak as it was. He called for the aid of the Goddess’, he called for the aid of Queen Frigga— wherever in the cosmos her spirit resided. If he could pull off one projection spell, he could prevent a lot of heartache.

Not his own, of course.

His power presented itself, dim but there. In his prime, it would have been no problem. Unlike most magic users, Loki had traveled the realms, picking up and stockpiling spells and enchantments. His magic was his arsenal, and he was good at it. The price had just been too heavy to pay.

“Please,” he asked it. “Come on.”

Loki fell into a darkness, a doorway opened on the astral plane.

If this killed him, if this was his last grain of sand, it would be worth it.

——

Thor was sleeping at the desk, face pressed against the surface. Even at rest, he looked tired.

Guilt swept over him; it may not have been entirely fair to leave so much on Thor’s shoulders. But, Loki needed to know he was capable of leadership.

He looked around the room— it was still standing. That was a good enough start.

Loki clapped his hands together, testing the spell. He was semi-corporal, but only for a short while, and only in this dream-state plane of existence. He just needed Thor to wake into it.

“Thor,” Loki called out.

Hesitant, he let his hand fall onto Thor’s shoulder, shaking him gently. He let out a groan, eyes blinking sleepily— little flashes of blue that made Loki’s heart stutter. 

Thor looked startled to see Loki standing there, so he smiled down reassuringly.

“Loki?” Thor’s voice was still raspy with sleep, though technically, he was still sleeping. “Is this a dream?”

“Yes,” Loki told him. He was about to continue—but Thor flashed him a lazy smile, leaning back in his chair.

“Usually you are a lot less clothed in my dreams. Are you sure?”

He didn’t know it was possible for his cheeks to warm in his current form— but Loki felt them redden all the same.

“It’s a dream, but I’m real,” he said hastily, trying to recover from his fluster. “We don’t have much time—”

Thor’s face turned stormy and he stood abruptly, the chair scraping loud against the hardwood. He raised his hand to Loki’s face and he half-expected to feel an angry strike. He was met with a soft cupping of his cheek.

“You’re okay,” Thor breathed out, eyes wide and looking upon Loki like he was something precious— something worthy of such awe.

“For now, but—” Loki stopped, unable to continue. There was such peace in the moment. He wasn’t there, not really, but he could still feel the warmth of Thor’s thumb stroking his cheek. He could still feel the weight of his gaze.

Throwing caution to the wind, he tilted his face up. If this was the last time he’d see Thor as his true self, he was going to get the kiss he so desired.

Thor’s grip turned hard, holding Loki’s head still in his strong hands. A sinking feeling pooled in his gut and he blinked away the shame.

He’d been so sure.

“Not like this,” Thor whispered. “I promise, I will get you back and then—"

Loki shook his head, there wasn’t time. He could feel his body calling him back, an invisible string tugging insistently on his soul. He needed to warn Thor, but his illogical heart begged him for something else.

If he were to die, he wanted to do so knowing the taste of Thor’s lips. He needed to know the feeling of being wanted.

And, _he_ wanted, just once, to indulge in his selfish desires.

“There might not be a next time. I may never come back.”

Thor frowned like he hadn’t even considered the possibility.  “Don’t say that.”

There was a tug within him, his left hand began to fade—he twisted his vanishing fists into Thor’s shirt and pulled him close. He was pleased to find he could still feel the sensation of Thor pressed against him.

“Kiss me,” Loki whispered. “Please.”

Thor’s eyes flickered down to Loki’s lips, and Loki licked them slowly in anticipation. The gentle hold on his cheek tightened, but this time it wasn’t guiding him away. Thor tilted his face up and an electricity sparked between them— Thor’s eyes seemed to glow impossibly blue.

Something between them snapped, both of them surging forward. Loki sighed the moment he felt Thor’s lips on his. Soft, but demanding, opening him up— he gave in easily. He’d never known something so satisfying.

When Thor swiped his tongue into the seam of his lips, the illusion of chastity vanished. His hand moved to Loki’s hair, tangling his fingers to hold his head still while he kissed— he took what he wanted, and Loki gave it in earnest.

They pulled back, pressing their foreheads together, and panted into the small space between them. Loki smiled, laughing through labored breaths. Despite everything, Loki felt happiness and hope.

It was quickly ripped from him as his hand slipped through Thor’s solid shoulder. Time was up.

Thor looked panicked and confused as his body lost the capability to hold onto Loki. He grasped at him, fingers passing through like air.

“I have to go,” Loki told him apologetically. “When I see you again—if I don’t remember. You have to stop me.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“If I have to die, let it be by your hands.”

Thor looked at him, disbelieving and broken. Leave it to Loki to break the euphoric spell they had just established. He couldn’t be bothered, this was what he came there for. This kiss had been a pleasant distraction— but, a distraction none-the-less.

The room was fading, his vision blurring black. Thor seemed farther and farther away with each passing second.

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded and hoped, with everything in him, Thor knew he meant it.

——

Loki woke back in the damp, dark chamber in chained captivity alone.

Lightning lingered on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhh, a kiss...sorta. but what would have happened if loki had popped in just a littleeeee earlier. :')


	15. chapter 14

The presence of Loki lingered long after Thor woke.

He could feel him in the air, on his skin, on his lips, in the aching hole within his chest. Thor reached up and pressed his fingers to his mouth, closed his eyes, and pretended once more it was Loki against him.

The dream, if he could call it that, was over too soon. He’d been so sure it wasn’t real; that it had been a fabrication of his mind, giving life to desires he’d only recently put a name to— not out loud though, never out loud.

But, there was something in the way Loki had looked at him; in the things he said that kept Thor pacing back and forth, back and forth.

_If I have to die, let it be by your hands._

Thor drug a hand over his mouth. It was just a dream, he told himself for the umpteenth time. Unsurprisingly, he still wasn’t convinced.

Outside, the rain beat down, rhythmic and melancholy. It’d been at it for days. Every day since Loki was taken; the sky wept for what Thor had lost.

Stationed right outside the door of the cabin was a tin pot. It was overflowing, as he suspected, and it had to be hauled up with two hands. He did so with a steadfast pace before anyone could see him and steal what precious alone time he had.

The plus side to the heavy, dreary rain?

A gratuitous supply of water, something they all desperately needed on their voyage. The moment Thor realized it wasn’t letting up, he’d instructed the crew to fill the reservoirs back to the brim and to keep them that way until the rain ceased.

Their trip inland was looking less dismal, less dangerous, and less impossible.

The water in his hands, however, was for a much more menial purpose.

Carefully, he tilted the pot to water Loki’s plants. Their tiny, green leaves seemed to perk up with new life as the soil dampened. He bent until he was eye-level with the sapling, a strange smile on his face.

——

The days drug on, and Thor grew impatient. He tried not to let it show, but by the fifth knock on his cabin door, he was ready to pull what was left of his hair out.

“Come in,” he called, trying not to sound as rough as he felt. He turned in his chair to be met with a woman he recognized vaguely from her meetings with Valkyrie. If he remembered correctly, she was in charge of the mess hall.

“Sigrid, Captain,” she told him. She held in her arms a board, and without hesitation, began consulting it. “Our ration numbers are looking steady, we should be okay, but it would be wise to exercise caution.”

“To prepare for the worst, in case we have delays once we land,” Thor mused.

“Yes, as of now we will be cutting it close— if we stay within the expected timeframe.”

“This is with the lost crew in accounted for?”

“Aye,” Sigrid nodded.

Thor leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. They were too far from any city or village to send someone in a pod, and they couldn’t afford to turn back.

They could, however, afford to trim.

“We will cut out the second meal,” Thor told her, resolutely. There would be those unhappy with his decision, but a morning meal and evening meal were plenty. Plus, it would only be temporary.

Sigrid, thankfully, smiled and him and jotted something onto her board. “Exactly what I would suggest, Captain.”

She turned to leave, auburn hair whipping behind her. There wasn’t a breath of a moment before Valkyrie cut in behind her, wringing out her hair straight into Thor’s floor. When he gave her an unimpressed glare, she returned it ten-fold.

“I don’t see how he did this— _this_ ,” Thor gestured wildly with his hands, “Captain thing. It’s exhausting.”

“Wait until your King.”

Thor’s face pulled into a frown. It was a painful reminder, one that he wouldn’t voice. When they retrieved Loki, completed their mission, and returned home—that would be the end of it. He’d stay in Asgard and cultivate what they had lost. He would rebrand himself for the realm, give them a glimpse of the kind of ruler he would be.

A good one, he would make sure of that.

But, then there was Loki. His father had promised him a fine home in Asgard, but Thor knew him. There was no way Loki would settle down, he had a home here on the Commodore, a family. And, Thor would just have to accept that he wasn’t part of it.

They would go their separate ways, and it would hurt, but Thor would save him all the same.

“News from Foster?”

It was better not to think about it. Distractions, distractions were good.

“She has the route coordinated out, only a night,” Valkyrie rolled her shoulders. “Maybe two.”

“And we are prepared? Defense wise.”

Valkyrie nodded, eyes fixed on Thor. In three easy steps she was before him, and her expression turned soft and sympathetic. A firm hand came to rest on his shoulder, firm but grounding.

“Something is bothering you,” she said. “Tell me, or I’ll beat it out of you.”

Thor snorted a tired laugh before burying his head in his hands, raking them along his face. He knew she could tell how tired he was— felt a hundred years old, was sure he looked it too. He wanted to talk and confide in her. The trouble was he didn’t know where to start.

So, instead, he told her it was nothing, and she clenched her fingers like she was _really_ about to beat it out of him.

“You’ve been moping around the ship for weeks. Lately, it’s been worse.”

Thor stayed silent.

“It’s bad for morale,” Valkyrie said and shrugged her shoulders. “So, I’ll ask again. What’s is bothering you, Captain?”

Thor stilled and looked down at his hands, more worn and calloused than they had been months ago. How had some much changed? It seemed his world had been flipped upside-down; he’d been turned inside-out.

Another pang in his chest— sadness, _longing_. 

“The other night,” Thor started, voice small and quiet. He kept his eyes on his hands, unable to handle Valkyrie’s scrutiny. “I saw him. He was here in my room. I thought it was a dream but, I don’t know.” The image of Loki scared and clinging to him as he faded. “I don’t know.”

“You saw him?” Her tone wasn’t mocking, almost like she believed.

“Yeah.”

“What did he say?” Valkyrie dropped to a squat before him, hands on her knees. She stared hard at his face, he could feel her eyes burning through, forcing him to meet her gaze.

Thor swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Thor,” she warned.

“He came to warn me. He told me that he may not be himself by the time we saw each other again. Then, asked me to kill him.”

Valkyrie said nothing, stood, and crossed her arms. Thor wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t laughter. Yet, that’s what he heard, her shoulders were shaking from it. Thor watched, dumbfounded, as she calmed herself, running her tongue along her teeth.

He’d be angry if he wasn’t so confused.

“That must have taken a lot out of him.”

“What?”

“Walking the astral planes. It's not easy magic, he learned it from a Mage in Midgard— Strange.”

Thor blinked. “Yes, all of this is strange. I don’t—”

“No,” Valkyrie said flatly. “That’s his name. The mage. But, magic like that comes at a high price. He could barely cast an illusion. I don’t understand.”

She held her chin in her hand, pacing back and forth. Thor watched, unable to do anything else. Nothing made sense. Astral planes? Strange? Something twisted in his stomach.

That meant it really had been Loki—that meant, Loki had really asked Thor to kiss him.

Thunder cracked in the distance and Valkyrie’s head shot up. She stopped in her tracks, staring at Thor with an unreadable expression.

“Come with me. We need to test something.”

——

Thor stared past Valkyrie and straight to Gamora, who was propped against the ship’s railing, bored expression hanging on her face.

“Why am I here again?”

Thor let out a growl of frustration. He’d been amiable to let her stay, but Gamora was a constant reminder of everything that was happening. How it was technically her fault. It’d been easy enough to forget she was there, seeing that she stayed in the boiler with Valkyrie most of the time and taken his spot in the old quarters.

He didn’t trust her. He wanted to, but he didn’t.

Valkyrie looked between them both, eyebrows raised. She gestured vaguely to Thor while looking at Gamora.

“Piss him off.”

Thor sputtered a noise that was probably intending to be a word but came out a choked mess, as Gamora shrugged and pushed herself off the wall, walking towards him.

“Wait,” Thor tried, holding up his hands. “ _Wait_ —”

Gamora hooked him straight in the jaw, and he stumbled back in pain. He looked up just in time to see her inspecting her knuckles before she pulled her fist back again and it collided with his nose.

“What are you doing?” Thor practically screamed, hand flying to dab at the trickle of blood leaking from his flared nostrils. The pain was already blossoming on his face, his cheek tender and his nose throbbing with a dull pain.

The sky was opening up, thunder rolling muffled in the distance, and fat drop of rain fell onto his blood-stained fingers, washing the red away.

Gamora and Valkyrie exchanged a look.

“More,” Valkyrie instructed, and in an instant, Gamora had him by the collar of his shirt, fist hauled back ready to strike.

“Stop,” Thor pleaded. “ _Stop_.”

It wasn’t that he couldn’t take the pain, he’d been dealt blows harder. He was just tired, hurting, and they were a day away from confronting Thanos—did he really want to waste his energy in a pointless, orchestrated brawl?

There was something else, fizzling under his skin. A fear that if he fought back, if he let go, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Too much was pent up inside him. Even though Gamora was technically still the enemy, he didn’t wish for her to be the vehicle that he channeled his anger.

Gamora turned to Valkyrie, fist still raised. Thor could see the thin scars on her face that shined like silver. She’d been the vehicle for such torture too often already. He didn’t doubt she could hold her own— there was just no desire to make her do so.

Valkyrie rolled her eyes, exasperated. The rain was falling steadily now, she held out her hand, letting it collect in her palm.

“Fine,” she admonished. “Don’t _physically_ piss him off.”

Thor fell back flat on the ground when he was released. Gamora stood over him, hip cocked, regarding him with thinly-veiled humor.

“Fine,” she parroted back to Valkyrie. “Where are his sore spots?”

Valkyrie’s eyes flashed to him for a brief second, a glimpse of sympathy on her face before it was replaced with her usual hard stoicism.

“Loki,” she told her.

Already his heart was beating.

“Really?” Gamora asked, crossing her arms and taking a step back. “That easy?”

Thor sat up, leaning back on his hands. He eyed them both hard, trying desperately to figure out what little game they were playing. They wanted him to hurt? As if he hadn’t been doing that for days— for years. They were mining for something, but he couldn’t place his finger on what.

“I know of Captain Laufeyson,” Gamora said, cool and collected. She paced back and forth in front of him, hands now behind her back, the click of her boots echoing on the empty deck. “I saw him right before I left, he was weak— _dying_.”

“He’s stronger than you think,” Thor told her. He didn’t actually know if that was true, but it made her lips quirk into a cruel smile.

“He had one foot in death’s doorway when I left. It’s been weeks.”

Thor ground his teeth together. This was bait; he wouldn’t take it.

“I doubt there is anything left. His body has probably already been tossed overboard.”

The rain poured down harder, beat against them, soaking all of them to the core. Gamora’s dark hair was plastered to her face, she looked up at the sky and seemed to contemplate for a moment before turning her attention back to him.

“Loki was trained by powerful magic-wielders,” Thor countered. He struggled to stand, pulling himself to his feet. He did know this, Loki had recounted his travels for him once while they sat on that very deck, an expanse of infinite space spread out before them.

Gamora set him with a challenging look. They circled each other like vultures.

“My mother was among them,” he added. “The Queen of Asgard.”

“Your mother kept Loki Laufeyson as a pet.”

Thunder clapped loudly, close, and the sky streaked with lightning. Something crawled under his skin, begging to be released. And, _something_ resembling fear flashed in Gamora’s eyes.

“Do not speak ill of my mother,” Thor said, though his voice came out more like a growl— a rumbling static. “Loki loved her as I did.”

Another bolt of lightning.

“Oh? And, _what_? Do you think Loki could ever love _you_?”

It happened all at once. A feeling in the core of his chest, a power coursing through his veins, electricity strumming through his entire body.

Blue.

Gamora stayed frozen in place, mouth hung open in an inspiring awe. Valkyrie was staring too, eyes transfixed as she blindly grabbed for Gamora’s hand, dragging her back and away. She was laughing, saying something that Thor couldn’t hear over the rushing in his ears.

His hands were burning with a crackling heat, and when he looked down he understood why.

Wisps of electricity were rolling over him, weaving through his fingers, sparking and disappearing only to regenerate. As he stretched out his arm, he watched the magic follow the veins beneath his skin, climbing up him, engulfing him with a power he’d never felt.

It felt good— _it felt great_.

The rain had stopped, the clouds parting to let down a shimmer of sunlight.

——

They left him to himself after he gained control of his newly found magic. He felt tired, but it was a different type of exhaustion, one he’d never felt before.

It didn’t make sense; his mother had told him there was nothing there. Loki had told him there was nothing there. It hurt to think they would lie to him, but Thor had spent the better part of the day coming up with explanations for why.

Some were even positive. Like, perhaps, Loki—

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

Thor turned from where he sat cross-legged on the deck, looking out towards the horizon. The sun was setting low in the distance. Another day down, another day closer.

Gamora had her hands in her pockets, a fake nonchalance in her gait as she sauntered over to him. She didn’t sit but stood close enough.

“It’s fine,” Thor said.

It wasn’t, not really. It was obvious her jabs were for a reason, to taunt and coax the magic dwelling within him to the surface. Still, her words didn’t sit well with him—partially because she took his deep fears, presented them in a mirror.

“We noticed it days ago,” Gamora hummed. “I don’t think either of us expected it to be so—”

“Scary?”

“Powerful.”

Thor looked down at his hands for what felt like the hundredth time. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, glowing blue? He’d been practicing calling forth his new magic, but it was still difficult. At the moment they looked normal, boring even.

But, powerful. He definitely felt powerful.

“Do you think this will make a difference?”

Gamora knelt down, placed a hand on his shoulder. She held his attention with a hard, serious stare.

“It will make all the difference. Thanos isn’t expecting this, it will work to our advantage. We have a shot.”

Thor nodded. Something lingered in the air, something that wasn’t being said.

“And?”

Gamora sighed and lowered herself fully to the ground, drawing her knees up to rest her arms on them. She turned her attention away, looking out over the railing, and he could tell she was a million miles from where they sat together on the Commodore.

“I’ve been around a lot of magic-users. Thanos would collect them, drain them of everything they had left. Sometimes I’d be in charge of keeping an eye on them. It was useful, I learned things.” She sighed and huddled into herself— he could barely stand watching his mother wither away, and Loki too. There was no imagining the toll watching hundreds die at your hands could take.

“Learn anything useful?”

Like how to snap your fingers and make your enemies vanish, he thought.

“Two magic-users can make a bond. It’s difficult and rare. But it can happen. Their magic becomes intertwined,” Gamora told him, lacing her fingers together in demonstration.

“You,” Thor swallowed, his heart beating hard against his chest. “You think maybe—?”

He couldn’t bring himself to ask, suddenly embarrassed. For what, he wasn’t sure. The insinuation was there, laid out. Every part of him wished it to be true.

“When Loki visited you in your dream,” Gamora started, and Thor felt his ears turn pink. If she noticed, she didn’t say. “How did you feel afterward? Better? Worse?”

Thor thought on it before answering. How did he feel? He’d spent so much time simply _feeling_ that he hadn’t stopped to put a name to any of the emotions swirling inside him.

Relief had been one—relief that Loki was alive. His heart stuttered at the memory of the kiss, there was _that_ too. But, overall, he had felt worse. Worse because he ached for Loki to return to him, because he missed him, because he wanted to protect but felt so far away. He’d finally gained confirmation that Loki might feel the same, but it was out of grasp, just beyond his fingertips.

“Worse,” Thor whispered, voice cracking. “So much worse.”

It had been evident in the stormy weather. Thor’s doing.

“I think you’re upset,” Gamora commented. “But, I don’t think it’s all you.”

A fluttering in his chest. Hope.

“Oh?”

“I think some of that pain, that _longing_ that you feel…” She turned, placing a gloved hand on his chest, above his heart. It beat hard against her palm. “I think that’s Loki missing you too.”

She moved her hand and Thor replaced it with his own. He closed his eyes, trying to search for a connection. Anything to tie them together, but the power was too new. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“I hope your right.”

Gamora stood, stretching her arms high above her head.

“So do I, for all of our sake. Together you’d be unstoppable.”

——

For the first time in weeks, Thor slept easy and sound throughout the night.

He didn’t dream of Loki— he didn’t dream at all. Which, in all honesty, was a disappointment. He wasn’t sure what would happen if they had truly formed a bond. That Loki could just waltz into his head anytime he was unconscious?

He still didn’t know the state of him. Maybe Gamora had been right in her ruthless taunts. Maybe he’d already been tossed overboard, limp body shattering on the ground below. Broken.

A spark lit at his fingertips, cracking energy.

No, that wasn’t the case. He would know if Loki was gone. He didn’t know how, but he knew. Even without a string connecting them.

Thor lay his head against the pillow and closed his eyes, tried to think hard about all the things he felt for Loki, so they might seep through the bond. He thought about things that he should have said long ago, things he wished he’d realized sooner before everything fell apart.

He wanted Loki to know, in case things didn’t go in their favor after all.

——

Final battle preparations were tedious, and if he were being honest, he relied heavily on Valkyrie for tactics. Valkyrie, who consulted with Gamora, and they spoke with bowed heads. Thor watched them curiously.

When he’d stuck them together, he hadn’t actually thought they would get along. They were both bull-headed and blunt, but they made a good team. And, though he trusted her a little more, he still held Gamora at arm’s length.

When he made mention of it to Valkyrie, she was ready with a solid counter: _Gamora knew Thanos_.

There was comfortable silence in the navigation room where they all stood. Comfortable which, interestingly enough, was uncomfortable. There was that unsung buzz in the air, the calm before the storm; tension so taunt it would snap at the faintest flick.

“We are here,” Jane breathed. She rolled her hands on the navigation board— reading lines and calculations that meant nothing to anyone but her. She stopped, looked up with caution and shifty eyes, like the entire ship would explode if any of them moved an inch.

Thor dared to first. Quietly, he walked to the window and the rest followed.

The ship was already descending a steady pace downward, and as it did, the view before them grew larger, zooming slowly into perspective.

In the middle of the barren, red desert— cracked, dry and dying— was a small oasis. A stacked stone temple overgrown with vines and lush vegetation. Colorful and vibrant in a world that was so monotonous with machines. Jane sucked in a little breath, and Thor realized he was holding his in.

“There he is,” Gamora cut in, voice heavy.

He’d been so awestruck, he hadn’t noticed Thanos’ ship already stationed on the ground, soldiers filtering out. Thor searched for Loki in the crowd of ant-sized people with no luck.

Anticipation sent a roll of magical energy through him, he tried to tamper it down. Reserve it.

“Let’s go.”

——

The armed and suited crewmembers were the first to file off the ship. Thanos’ men were waiting in uniformed lines, stark still and at attention. They’d seen them coming, they were also prepared.

With Gamora and Valkyrie at his side, Thor— the Commodore’s dutiful Captain— cut through his own wall of soldiers. They parted for him with ease and respect, until the three of them stood at the front lines waiting.

The wind blew, sending dust whirling at their feet. A substantial silence.

“Bring me Thanos!” His voice came as a roar, unable to control the vibration from leaking out.

As if on cue, the sea of Thanos’ men parted, allowing their commander to step through. Behind him, Nebula and Loki.

Loki— a spark in his chest. A pull. One look and Thor knew the bond was real, and that it was there, urging them together with an unrelenting magnetism. Neither of them budged, and Loki looked past him, vacant expression in his eyes.

His face was streaked blue, but underneath, Thor could tell he looked healthier— his energy restored. There was a tiny swell in his chest to think he helped with that. Loki was okay, he was alive. They were going to be okay—

“I knew you were going to be trouble,” Thanos spoke. For the first time, Thor looked away from Loki and towards the actual problem at hand. “And, Gamora, my daughter.”

 “I’m not your daughter,” Gamora hissed, spitting at the ground in a lewd display. Nebula, her sister, was the only one to flinch.

“No,” Thanos said slowly, he sounded remorseful. “Not anymore.”

“Enough!”

Thor felt it welling inside him, humming just beneath the surface of his skin. He no longer tried to hold it back, allowing the wisps of blue to rise, curling around him, his electricity popping to life in loud cracks. He knew how he must look— Valkyrie had painted him a pretty good picture.

Eyes glowing with power, sparks dancing along his arms.

 _Like a God_ , she had said.

He would be a God without mercy.

“This ends now.”

For the first time, Loki met his eyes—but they were no longer empty and unseeing. He stared, and Thor could see his pupils reflecting blue. Something that felt like adoration, _love_ , flooded the bond.

From behind Thanos’ shoulder, Loki gave a little nod, his lips twitching at the corners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this took so long. this chapter gave me so much trouble?? also, i edited, but i was impatient so there are probably a few errors. but hey, we are in the final stretch. maybe two to three chapters left. please leave feedback, i'm begging. :')


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